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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 




Nat C. Goodwin 









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NAT GOODWIN'S 
BOOK 

NAT% GOODWIN 






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BOSTON 

RICHARD G. BADGER 

THE GORHAM PRESS 

TORONTO: COPP CLARK COMPANY LIMITED 






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Copyright, 19 14 

By Nat C. Goodwin and Richard G. Badger 

All rights reserved 



The Gorham Press, Boston, U.S.A. 

NOV -7 19/4 

©CI.A387410 



PREFACE 




N penning memoirs or autobiographing 
it is extremely difficult to avoid writing 
impersonally, yet I shall strive to avoid 
it as much as possible, not so much 
from a sense of duty as from a stand- 
point of mercy. 
I have never enjoyed reading about myself and I am 
firmly convinced that there are few who have. Per- 
haps, if I am tempted during this review to give myself 
an opinion of myself, it may be received with favor 
even by those critics who have never agreed with any 
of my characterizations. 

I started this little work with some degree of terror. 
I had such a poor background to frame my somewhat 
checkered career upon. I fully realized that a man 
must be a very great person, or at least imagine him- 
self to be, to write an autobiography. But finally after 
listening to the advice of friends I approached myself, 
albeit surprised at my temerity. After having read 
many autobiographies I discovered that most nearly- 
great persons who indulge in the dissipation of giving 
to the world their opinions of themselves were either 
born in dilapidated garrets or on unproductive farms. 
As there were no trees in my garden of youth nor a 
candle placed in an empty bottle to shed its effulgence 
upon my future life I wondered how I could diversify 
and be truthful, yet entertaining. A feeling of appre- 
hension akin to that which always follows the first 
night of one of my productions took hold of me. I 



vi PREFACE 

wondered how this little effort of mine would be re- 
ceived. 

When reading a criticism the morning following a 
production I am always fearful of being found out. 
If I am condemned I know I have been! But after I 
have fully digested all the unkind criticisms, which are 
usually written by those who do not fancy me in any 
serious effort, I am in the end always superlatively 
happy in knowing that the critic has done his duty. 

If I had my way, he would be doing time! 

Generally he is so blissfully ignorant of what he 
prates about that I have a silent chuckle all to myself 
at the expositions of his glaring and blatant incompe- 
tency. Yet it has always been a question in my mind 
whether the public enjoys reading vituperative attacks 
upon its stage favorites particularly after it has been 
entertained and amused the previous evening. I think 
that it is thoroughly satisfied with its own verdict and 
resents another's antagonistic to it. It much more 
enjoys reading something of the actor's private life 
particularly when it can read something which exposes 
his or her particular vagaries. And the public is prone 
to believe everything the visionary gentlemen of the 
press chronicle. The more unwholesome it is the more 
it believes; the more suggestive, the more palatable. 

You have only to put any sort of halo around an 
actor or a cigar, good or bad, to beget a following or a 
smoker! 

Unfortunately the halo that the public has been kind 
enough to place above me will not bear minute inspec- 
tion. It is opaque. However, being unable to escape 
it I have always been content to smile within and when 
the haloed one has been supposedly exposed I can do 
nothing but sit tight and accept the inevitable. At 
times it has been a bit harrowing to submit, yet it has 
taught me self-control which I will endeavor to exercise 



PREFACE vn 

in this little work. If I am tempted to use the personal 
pronoun more frequently than necessary I shall deflect 
and command my thoughts, to wander among more 
agreeable persons. Having lived so long within the 
confines of my kindly bestowed halo I have become 
fully aware of my limitations. The agreeable per- 
sonalities are easily found and I hope my readers will 
enjoy their companionship as much as I have enjoyed 
them. 

Every reference made to these delightful people is 
inspired by the kindliest of feelings and if I have judged 
one or two more harshly than they seemingly deserve 
the error is of the head, not of the heart; for I loved, 
liked or admired them all and I am none too poor to 
do them reverence — even now. 

While some may regard my opinions as impertinences 
none can convincingly deny my right to think, and as 
all is given impersonally I believe that none will doubt 
my motives. 

Many will question the various attitudes in this book 
particularly regarding marriage and divorce. They will 
advance the theory that the bonds of matrimony must 
be welded more closely even when the participants find 
it difficult to live normally. I know that many who 
are incarcerated in the dungeons of matrimonial thral- 
dom would not stop at murder to burst their bonds. It 
does not require the philosophy of a Bacon or an Emer- 
son to prove that such incarceration is wrong. Why 
make martyrs of those forced to live together when 
hate supplants love, when bodies and thoughts play 
upon different instruments producing only discords? 
The laws of our country make it possible for us to file 
the bars of our unwholesome cells and suppress this 
monumental mockery. The views I have incorporated 
in this book, right or wrong, I stand by. All through 
my life I have never feared criticism for any of my 



vin PREFACE 

acts. My moral or physical courage has never failed. 
I have been and always will be willing to stand by my 
guns and take my medicine. 

Before completing this work I unfortunately submitted 
a few excerpts to a visionary representative of one of 
the Los Angeles papers. He immediately published 
broadcast what he had absorbed and very obligingly 
gave it the title of his own imagination, " Memoirs of 
Matrimony," thereby creating the impression that my 
book was to be devoted simply to my marital experi- 
ences. Such was never my intention, but as more 
than thirty years of my life have been devoted to 
matrimony naturally my autobiography demands men- 
tion of the women who have borne my name. 

I have been censured sometimes harshly for my ver- 
satility in the selection of wives and many have mar- 
velled at my fortunate (or unfortunate) selections. I 
have always been long on the market of home and wives. 

I truly believe that no home is complete without a 
wife, providing she is of the kind that enjoys the com- 
pany of intelligent, honest and clever people. Some 
men only lease their mates and then prate about their 
respectability. If I have decided at different times to 
tear down any of the Ephesian domes which I have 
erected, is the fact of my destroying them enough to 
warrant my being known, as was Alexander, as the fool 
that razed (or is it raised?) them? 

While autobiography and a round up of memories 
will necessarily be conspicuous I shall endeavor also to 
make this book a medium of retrospective thoughts 
given to the many people, prominent and otherwise, 
with whom I have come in contact. As I have no notes 
I shall write purely from memory's tablets. If inac- 
curacies occur they will be unintentional. 

Many of those dear friends have long since passed 
down the lonely mountain trail, but their sweet mem- 



PREFACE ix 

ories still linger by the roadside. If they but leave the 
perfume of their souls to mark the road for me to follow 
when I arrive at the corral nature has established in the 
valley I hope that we all shall meet and that they will 
elect me their callboy, that I may be privileged to ring 
up the curtain upon perpetual joy. 

N. C. G. 

Ocean Park, California. 



CONTENTS 

Chapter Page 

I Commencement Day 17 

II My Debut 22 

III Stuart Robson 26 

IV John McCullough 35 

V Sir Henry Irving 38 

VI "Barry" and Jefferson 41 

VII A Sunny Son of Sometime 49 

VIII Charles Hoyt . . 51 

IX Sir Charles Wyndham 54 

X Charles R. Thorne, Jr 56 

XI Sol Smith Russell 61 

XII Richard Mansfield 67 

XIII In Variety 75 

XIV Eliza Weathersby 80 

XV Successful Failures 89 

XVI Back in the 'Eighties 92 

XVII The Halcyon Days of Union Square ...... 96 

XVIII The Birth of the Syndicate 101 

XIX Stars 109 

XX Atmospheric Plays 115 

XXI Actors Past and Present 118 

XXII Maude Adams 121 

XXIII Tyrone Power 126 

XXIV An Artistic Success! 127 

XXV The Skating Rink 131 

XXVI Number Two -. 134 

XXVII A Fight Won (?) 140 

XXVIII John Chamberlain 148 

XXIX W. S. Gilbert 152 

XXX Henry E. Dixey 153 

XXXI Swagger New Yorkers of Another Day 155 

XXXII James Whitcomb Riley 157 

XXXIII Digby Bell and Dewolf Hopper 159 

XXXIV Blaine and Ingersoll 162 

XXXV Jim Corbett in England 164 

XXXVI The Cockney Cabby Comedian 166 

XXX VI I A Gilded Fool and Other Plays 168 

XXXVIII George M. Cohan 177 

XXXIX Thoughts Vaudeville-Born 179 

XL John Drew 181 

XLI The Rivals Revival . 182 

XLII Wilton Lackaye 185 



XII 



CONTENTS 



Chapter Page 

XLIII "Young" Mansfield 187 

XLIV David Warfield 190 

XLV A Day at Reno 192 

XLVI Lillian Russell 197 

XLVII Dramatic Schools 198 

XLVI 1 1 Number Three (Almost) 201 

XLIX The Confessional 207 

L San Francisco 211 

LI Antony (?) and Cleopatra 216 

LI I Honolulu and Samoa 223 

LI 1 1 Publicity — Its Results 230 

LIV In the Land of the Kangaroo 233 

LV Welcome (!) Home 240 

LVI Number Three 243 

LVII When We Were Twenty-One and Other Plays . . 248 

LVIII At Jackwood 254 

LIX " Why Do Beautiful Women Marry Nat Goodwin? " . 262 

LX Billy Thompson 265 

LXI The Critics 266 

LXII James A. Hearne 277 

LXIII Eddie Foy 279 

LXIV William Gillette 280 

LXV William Brady, Esq 283 

LXVI Robert Ford 284 

LXVII More Plays 286 

LXVIII Willie Collier 288 

LXIX Henry Miller 290 

LXX What's in a Name? 291 

LXXI I Try Being a Business Man 293 

LXXII The Five Fateful Fishcakes and Number Four . . 302 

LXXIII Sir Beerbohm Tree 315 

LXXIV The Origin of the Stage 317 

LXXV My Stage-Struck Valet 321 

LXXVI George C. Tyler 324 

LXXVII I Find the Very Best Phyllis 326 

LXXVIII The Lambs Club .329 

LXXIX I "Come Back" 33^ 

LXXX I Go Back 334 

LXXXI David Belasco 336 

LXXXII "Author — Author" 337 

LXXXIII Mushroom Managers 341 

LXXXIV "Keep off the Grass" 345 

LXXXV California 350 

LXXXVI I Become a Barnstormer 352 

LXXXVII Number Five 355 

LXXXVIII L'Envoie 356 

Index 359 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

Facing Page 

Nat C. Goodwin Frontispiece 

William Warren 2a ^ 

The greatest comedian that ever lived 

Stuart Robson 26 ' 

The best Shakespearean clown of modern times 

Tony Hart 30 ^ 

He bad the face of an Irish Apollo, did Tony Hart 

John McCullough and Associate Players in the Dramatic Festival 36 
"Mr." McCullough and the rest of us 

Sir Henry Irving 40^ 

An extraordinary man 

Joseph Jefferson 46 ^ 

I firmly believe I improved bis morals 

Sir Charles Wyndham 54 '• 

A remarkable man 

Charles R. Thorne, Jr. 6& r 

A royal picture to contemplate 

In the Little Rebel 7 6 

One of my first excursions into the legitimate 

Eliza Weathersby 80 V" 

The wife who mothered me 

In Hobbies with Eliza Weathersby 84 s/ 

The play I won at faro 

Lithograph of Goodwin's Froliques 88 v/ 

In Turned Up p 2 

In the days when I was an imitator 

Lotta 9 g / 

In the days when work was play 

Jack Haverly I02 ^/ 

The man who conceived the syndicate 

In the Gold Mine I12 . f 

My get-up in The Gold Mine 

Those Were the Happy Days 118 ^ 

COQUELIN 124 y 

Would he have gone in vaudeville ? I wonder 



xiv LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

Facing Page 
Nella Baker Pease 134 v/ 

The best amateur piano player I ever beard 

Nat C. Goodwin, III 138 w 

Pals 150 V 

Richard Carle, Fred G. Stanley, Nat Goodwin, Walter Jones, DeWolf 
Hopper 

In Confusion 160 

Back in the eighties 

Nat Goodwin and Company in In Mizzoura 168 v 

One of the best casts I ever saw 

Ticket Sale for In Mizzoura 176 ^ 

Dick Golden 182 V 

We were pals for many years 

David Warfield and Nat Goodwin 190 w 

I'm proud of the company 

In Mizzoura 200 - 

One of the greatest of American plays 

Mrs. N. C. Goodwin, Sr 210 

A dear old lady living in Boston 

How much a Lamb I was I didn't know — Then! 216 '/ 

An Australian Greeting Can't Touch its Farewell! 220 X 

In An American Citizen 232 /" 

If we had been associated a few years longer my name would have been 
up as her leading support! 

As Bob Acres 240 )/ 

I gave Bob a country dialect 

Maxine Elliott 246 > 

Fate's partner 

In When We were Twenty-One 252 '/* 

The biggest hit of any play I ever produced 

In Nathan Hale 258 

"They hang Nat in the last act" 

Wm. H. Thompson 264 v 

An artist to bis finger tips 

James A. Hearne 278 y 

He knew bow poor Sol (f fell'* 

Robert Ford 284 \f 

"A cold-blooded, conscienceless murderer " 

As Cameo Kirby 294 \x 

/ never played a character I liked so well 

Edna Goodrich 304 \f 

My young and handsome star 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS xv 

Facing Page 
As Shylock 310 

One of my successful failures 

In Hamlet 320 

It bad always been my desire to appear in Shakespearean roles 

Margaret Moreland 326 

Tbe very best Phyllis 

As Fagin in Oliver Twist 330 

"Fagin was a comedian " £ . :i , 

David Belasco 336 

An intellectual giant 

Drawn while We were "Barnstorming" 344 

The Ranch at San Jacinto, California 350 

A scene not equalled in tbe Austrian Tyrol 



NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 



NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 



Chapter I 




COMMENCEMENT DAY 

NE bright morning in June, 1872, the 
Little Blue Academy of old Farmington 
College, Maine, rang with the plaudits 
of an admiring throng of visitors. Some 
of them had come in their capacious 
coaches, lumbering and crushing their 
way through the streets of the usually quiet village, 
while others in good old Puritan fashion had come afoot 
and across fields and by-ways. Altogether the tumult 
was great both without and within and the Puritan 
housewives, their quiet thus sadly disturbed, devoutly 
offered up thanks that such affairs occurred but once in 
a twelvemonth. But the clatter of contending Jehus 
and vociferous villagers on the campus was nothing 
compared with the resounding clash of palms and other 
noisy demonstrations of approval within. 

It was Commencement Day. Eager papas and mam- 
mas, sweet, admiring misses and anxious friends were 
there that neither valedictorian, salutatorian, orator nor 
poet might lack that proper sort of encouragement, 
without which any affair of this nature must necessarily 
be incomplete. They were to decide as well the winner 
of the prize in elocution. Truly it was a day of mighty 
portent. 

17 



1 8 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

Many had spoken their parts and the rafters and roof 
had given back the approving shouts in echoes almost 
as resounding as the words themselves. At length my 
name was announced by our preceptor and worthy 
master, Mr. Alden J. Blethen, the present manager and 
owner of the Seattle "Times." 

With some timidity, but tremendous eagerness, I 
mounted the improvised rostrum and began my recita- 
tion of a poem called "The Uncle." As I began my eyes 
seemed to be swimming back and forth in my head. 
I saw nothing but birds floating into space. Then a 
death-like silence ensued and images usurped the place 
of birds. They assumed forms and through the mists 
came men and women and one by one they seemed to 
come before my vision until the room was filled. I 
finished, I thought, in a hush and was utterly oblivious 
to the great burst of applause which greeted my efforts. 
My seat-mate, poor Charlie Thomas who in after years 
was associated with Charles Hoyt, the writer and pro- 
ducer of many successful farce comedies, grabbed me by 
the arm and hurled me back upon the stage whispering, 
"Give them that 'Macbeth' speech!" Mechanically I 
acted upon his suggestion and began the soliloquy. I 
remembered nothing more until we left the hall. In 
fact I was in a comatose state until summoned that 
evening by Mr. Blethen to come into his library where, 
in the presence of the other scholars, I was presented 
with a set of Shakespeare's Complete Works. 

As I went to my room that night I began to dream of 
the life to come. I saw myself startling the world as 
King Lear. 

Two days after I received the first newspaper criticism 
of my work from the Portland papers. The notices 
pleased me beyond words and brought more joy to my 
young heart than any I ever received in after life. 
With pardonable pride, I trust, I set one forth here: — 



COMMENCEMENT DAY 19 

"The little Academy had never known the delirium of 
applause until a slight, delicate youth, with peculiar 
flaxen hair, round blue eyes, and a complexion as fair 
as a girl's mounted the rostrum and spoke his lines. 
Such elocution must have awakened unusual interest, 
and so easy was the speaker, so perfect his actions and 
charming his intelligence, that the old dormitory shook 
with plaudits." 

I was told twenty-five years later by a little Jew 
critic named Cohen that I lacked all these attributes, 
after I had devoted a quarter of a century in earnest 
endeavor to accentuate them! How I must have retro- 
graded in all those years! Until he told me I thought 
I must have travelled ahead, for I could not possibly 
have gone back. But perhaps I never started! The 
notices in the Portland papers fanned the smoke into a 
flame and from that day I determined to become an 
actor. Some years before I had become imbued with 
the idea, the inspiration coming from my living in close 
proximity to an actors' boarding-house kept by a Mrs. 
Fisher at No. 3 Bulfinch Place, Boston. Many and 
many a time have I waited between school hours and 
play to catch a glimpse of the occupants of this cele- 
brated yet modest hostelry, for here were housed many 
conspicuous actors of the day. Many a time I endeav- 
ored to touch the sleeve or any part of the garment 
of the players as they emerged from the house on their 
way to rehearsals and if I succeeded my mission was 
fulfilled for the day. 

On one occasion William Warren's hat blew off. I 
rushed for it and rescued it from beneath a horse's 
hoofs. I returned it to the owner and he thanked me 
very graciously. The incident was too much for my 
young nerves. I played hookey that afternoon. School 
had no charms for me that day. An actor had spoken 
to me! 



20 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

Years after I was privileged to meet this gentleman 
at a breakfast given in my honor by the Elks of Boston 
with Mayor O'Brien in the chair. I had been invited 
to appear at a charity benefit to be preceded by this 
breakfast. I was playing at the time at the Bijou 
Theatre, New York, but I arranged to leave on the 
midnight train, arriving in time for the breakfast at 
nine. Afterwards I appeared at eleven o'clock at the 
benefit, catching the one o'clock train back to New 
York. 

Upon my arrival in Boston the Mayor met me at 
the train with a Committee which took me in charge. 
We drove straight to the breakfast room. There the 
first to greet me was dear old William Warren. A lump 
came up into my throat as big as a water melon. 
Think of it — that tall, big player to greet me! With 
outstretched hand he bade me welcome home where, 
he said, all loved me. "Come and sit by me, my son," 
said he, and as I turned to answer him he looked to me 
like a god. I was privileged to sit by the genius whose 
coat hem I had in years gone by waited for hours to 
touch. He was unconsciously rewarding me for my 
boyish hero-worship. He was touching my heart strings 
and creating delightful memories to remain forever in 
my mind. No food passed my lips. I was above the 
clouds playing upon a golden harp! My blood flowed 
through my veins like lava! I was sitting by a great 
comedian and, believe me, I was glad, for I consider 
William Warren the greatest comedian that ever lived. 

After the breakfast which was hurriedly eaten we 
started for the playhouse. I was so nervous that I 
could scarcely make up, but I knew that I had to do 
something as this great man was in the audience. 

At length the moment came for me to make my 
entrance. Tremendous applause greeted me. I en- 
deavored to play as I had never played before. My 




William Warren . 

The greatest comedian that ever lived 



COMMENCEMENT DAY 21 

inspiration was the gentle face in the right-hand box 
beaming upon my incompetency. I was dreadfully self 
conscious. I knew I was in the presence of a master 
and try as I would nothing seemed to get over the 
footlights as I wished. Every word seemed to stop 
dead at that right-hand box and would not go beyond. 
When the finish came I offered up a silent prayer of 
gratitude. 

As I wended my way slowly to the dressing-room 
someone congratulated me upon my efforts. As I sank 
into my chair the stage manager opened the door, 
reiterating the congratulations. I simply asked, "How 
did Mr. Warren like me?" Before he could answer 
the tall figure of Warren appeared at the door and he 
said, "I couldn't have done it better myself, young 
man!" Then he patted me on the shoulder, saying, 
"Hurry, or you'll miss your train." He shook me by 
the hand, bade me good-bye and returned to the board- 
ing house where he had lived for many years, to his 
little back room. A few weeks later twelve men bore 
his body to Mt. Auburn Cemetery placing him among 
the roses. 

Warren's Sir Peter Teazle, Jefferson Scattering Bat- 
kins, Jessie Rural, Tony Lumpkin, Bob Acres, Dr. 
Pangloss and about all of Shakespeare's clowns have 
never been equaled by any player of any age. He had 
all the humor and the pathos that comedy is heir to — 
a player of the old school, not the night school. 



Chapter II 




MY DEBUT 

FTER leaving the Little Blue Academy 
of Old Farmington I returned to New 
York with my parents. We were there 
but a short time when we returned 
to Boston, where my father, one of 
t those thoroughgoing Bostonians who 



intended me for the law, compromised by securing for 
me a position as an entry clerk in the counting-room 
of Wellington Bros. & Co., dry goods merchants. This 
did not appeal to me, and at stray intervals I found 
great pleasure in fraternizing with a few actors with 
whom I had become acquainted. I preferred play 
books to the ledgers and account books of Wellington 
Bros. They were my special delight, and I devoted 
all my spare time to committing the lines of the lead- 
ing parts to memory. My father always allowed me 
money to attend the theatres. I was privileged to see 
all the great actors of my day, and every other night 
found me in either the front row of the balcony, or 
gallery of the local theatres. I would go over the lines 
as I had heard them, and in doing so found that I could 
reproduce the tones and gestures of the players I had 
seen. Thus I discovered that I had the gift of imita- 
tion. One by one I added to my parts until at length 
I found that I had a repertoire of seventeen. I would 
rehearse them with my only auditor, my mother, who 
considered them perfect. 

Night usually found me at the back door of the 
Boston Theatre or Boston Museum importuning the 
Captain of the Supers to be allowed to carry a spear. 



22 



MY DEBUT 23 

The major portion of my time was given to affairs 
theatrical until finally my employers decided to dis- 
pense with my valuable services, and much to my 
delight I was cast adrift. 

My mother, who always had a great fondness for 
the stage and was always seeking the society of those 
connected with it, made the acquaintance of Mr. and 
Mrs. Charles R. Thorne, Sr., the father and mother 
of Charles, Edwin and William Thorne, and persuaded 
them to take a suite of rooms at our house in Boston, 
situated at the corner of Bulfinch and Howard Streets, 
directly opposite the famous Mrs. Fisher's theatrical 
boarding-house. The Thornes were very delightful old 
people, and for hours I would sit and listen to them 
discussing the favorites of olden times, dating back to 
the advent of the Keans. Finally, they persuaded 
their son Edwin to come and live with us, and for the 
first time I found myself in the divine atmosphere of 
the players' life. Edwin was the leading man at the 
Howard Athenaeum, playing stock pieces and support- 
ing travelling stars. 

The Thornes were a great delight to me, as they had 
the entry to all the playhouses in Boston, and it was 
m Y j°y to accompany dear Mrs. Thorne to every 
"first night." 

Edwin Thorne finally left our house and became 
leading man at the Providence Opera House, under the 
management of William Henderson. I would often 
visit Providence, go behind the scenes and hold the 
book while Thorne was committing his various parts 
to memory. It is unnecessary to state that I was 
always enthralled at these golden opportunities. After 
repeated requests Thorne was persuaded to use his 
influence in procuring me an engagement. Finally I 
was offered the part of Sir George Hounslow in the 
old melodrama, "The Bottle." I fortified myself 



^4 NAT GOODWINS BOOK 

with a blonde wig, never dreaming of using my own 
blonde locks. I thought every actor should wear a 
wig. From Thome's wardrobe I selected clothing al- 
together too large for my slim proportions. I required 
inspiration and atmosphere and decided that in the 
wardrobe of the illustrious player I should find it. 
Bedecked in those ill-fitting garments I stood at the 
wings on the opening night waiting for my cue. 

I was possessed of so much assurance at rehearsals 
that little attention had been paid to me regarding the 
details of stage business, the stage manager taking all 
for granted. I was the bad young man of the play, 
seeking to bring about the dishonor of the soubrette. 
I was supposed to have endeavored to embrace her 
down the road, she to have eluded my advances and 
broken away, rushing onto the stage, I following. 
Naturally she did not rehearse all she intended to do 
that evening, and while I was quietly talking with her 
in the entrance, the cue was given and she uttered a 
fearful shriek! I didn't know what had happened and 
looked around for the cause. Then I found she was in 
the center of the stage wildly beckoning me to come 
on and finish the scene that was supposed to have 
started down the road. Somebody shoved me on. 
The orchestra played chilly music suggestive of my 
base intentions. This took every line out of my head, 
and I simply stood there and gasped! Not a sound 
could I ejaculate! The young lady contemplated me 
for a moment and cried, "You shall not!" Then she 
rushed off, leaving me transfixed. From each side of 
the stage I could hear, "Come off! Come off!" but 
I seemed paralyzed and could not stir. At last the 
lights went out, the scene was changed and when I 
came to I found myself in the property room with two 
or three gentlemen in red flannel shirts throwing water 
into my face. They left me for an instant, and I ran 



MY DEBUT 25 

out of the stage door in all my makeup and Thome's 
wardrobe (which he afterwards told me I failed to 
return). I waited until the train came through for 
Boston and boarded it, utterly oblivious of the sen- 
sation I was creating among the passengers by my 
painted face and penciled eyebrows. I jumped into 
a cab upon my arrival at the Boston station, drove 
home to my parents and threw myself into my mother's 
arms crying, "I cannot act! Get me a position in a 
shoe store!" 

I was heartbroken for many weeks and firmly re- 
solved never to become an actor; but gradually my 
mother, who always believed in my hidden histrionic 
powers, instilled some courage into my soul, I yielded 
to her sympathy and advice and determined to try 
once more. 

Through my mother's influence my father bowed at 
last to what seemed the inevitable and consented to 
permit me to prepare myself for the stage, exacting 
from me a promise, however, that I would devote not 
less than five hours a day to my studies. Accordingly 
I was sent to Wyzeman Marshall, an old-school actor 
of some repute during the reign of Edwin Forrest, who 
undertook my training. I spent many happy hours 
with this charming old gentleman as he devoted most 
of his (and my) time to anecdotes and stories of the 
past. He taught me but little, apart from the scan- 
ning of Shakespeare, which he thoroughly instilled into 
my mind, so the few months which I spent under 
his tutelage did me much good. I had no thought 
of being a comedian and devoted all of my time to 
the study of serious roles, from Douglas to the bloody 
Thane of Cawdor, and committed all those parts to 
memory. 

Fortunately for me at this time I became acquainted 
with Stuart Robson. 




Chapter III 

STUART ROBSON 

IY meeting with Stuart Robson was 
brought about by the influence of Joseph 
Bradford, a clever playwright of the 
day. He had heard my imitations of 
actors and pronounced upon them favor- 
ably, "not only for their accuracy," as 
he put it, but the methods I employed reminded him of 
a dear friend of his who had passed away some years 
before — Robert Craig, to whom I was told I bore a 
striking resemblance. 

Robert Craig was a clever player, playwright and 
wonderful mimic. He was for years leading comedian 
at Mrs. John Drew's Arch Street Theatre, Philadelphia. 
Had he lived he would certainly have made dramatic 
history for himself. I have only a faint recollection of 
him, but Bradford often told me of his many wonderful 
gifts and I have many times wished that I had been 
born earlier or he later. 

Bradford was an extraordinary person. A most in- 
competent actor, which he often with great regret 
admitted, but one of the greatest geniuses that I have 
ever met — a master in all matters pertaining to the 
drama and literature of the theatre. Had he lived I 
feel certain that he would have become the Pinero of 
the American stage. Alas, he was given to conviviality 
and lived only for his friends. 

He possessed a splendid physique and was gifted with 
fine conversational power. His fund of humor was 

26 




Stuart Robson 

The best Shakespearean clown of modern times 



STUART ROBSON 27 

excelled by none. He was liberal to a fault, devoid of 
egotism, with always a kindly word for those with whom 
he came in contact and possessed a brain as pyrotech- 
nical as Paine's fireworks. You can imagine his influence 
upon those who were fortunate enough to be his asso- 
ciates. His knowledge of painting, drama, music, sculp- 
ture, literature, poetry, in fact all the arts, seemed 
unlimited. As a critic he had a style peculiarly his 
own, equalled only by Hazlitt, Lamb, Lewes and a few 
others. He was a graduate of Annapolis and left there 
with many honors. Very often we would sit in his 
rooms and he would read me his prose and poetry, 
which he never allowed to be published but which I 
think was as nearly unique as that of Edgar Allan Poe, 
to whom he bore a striking resemblance. He was a 
devotee at the shrine of Poe and often regretted the 
untimely end of America's greatest lyrical genius. 
Little did he imagine that his end would be the same. 
Burns, Poe and Bradford were the victims of their 
mastering passion — the loving cup. 

Through his kindly interest and guidance I was en- 
abled to secure my first real engagement and make the 
acquaintance of the best Shakespearean clown of modern 
times and one of the cleverest of modern comedians as 
well, Stuart Robson. 

I remember the morning Bradford guided me behind 
the scenes of the old Howard Athenaeum to present me 
to Stuart Robson. As we entered we found that gentle- 
man in the throes of a busy rehearsal of one of Brad- 
ford's plays. As I stood in the entrance faint from 
excitement Robson stopped, looked toward the entrance 
where I stood, transfixed, walked toward me and said, 
"My God, Brad! who is this young man?" Bradford 
answered, "A young friend of mine who wants to go on 
the stage. Of whom does he remind you, Rob?" Rob- 
son looked at me for a minute, and ejaculated, "Merci- 



28 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

ful powers, Bob Craig!" After being introduced we 
shook hands and he said, "Come into my dressing-room, 
young man, and let me have a good look at you." As 
we entered the room he seated me upon a trunk, took 
both my hands in his and with the tears streaming down 
his face gasped, "Wonderful! Wonderful! I have never 
seen such a resemblance between two human beings!" 

Within a few minutes the rehearsal was dismissed. 
Bradford and Robson took their seats in the front row 
of the parquet and I went through my repertoire of 
imitations. I rendered sixteen and Rob, bless him, 
always pronounced the last one the best. I was about 
to leave the stage when Brad insisted that I should give 
one of Robson. I put a veto upon that proposition and 
after about fifteen minutes of violent pleading Robson, 
who understood my feelings, sustained the veto. 

Robson immediately offered me a part in the play 
which he was about to produce, and on the following 
Monday I appeared in Bradford's play, "Law in New 
York," as Ned the newsboy, and in the pier scene 
I first gave my imitations of celebrated actors on the 
stage of a theatre. 

They told me that my stunt went remarkably well, 
but I have no recollection of what occurred. After I 
had responded to several encores someone in the gallery 
cried out, "Give us an imitation of Robson!" It took 
my breath away, but I stood still and calmly shook my 
head. I was recalled and still the cry came, "Robson! 
Robson!" He was standing in the wings and as I 
came off I said, "What can I do, Mr. Robson? They 
are clamoring for me to give an imitation of you!" 
"Do?" said he in that falsetto voice so well known to 
theatregoers of that period, "Go back and give the 
villains hell!" On the impulse of the moment I went 
through an entire scene which the audience had just 
witnessed between Robson and a favorite player named 



STUART ROBSON 29 

Henry Bloodgood. As I assumed each voice, particu- 
larly Robson's, the applause was deafening, and at the 
finish, after repeated recalls, Robson was obliged to 
take me on and make a speech, thanking the audience 
in my behalf. 

After the play Robson said to me, "Young Goodwin, 
you have done two things tonight that I shall never 
forget — halted the performance of a very good play 
and given a very bad imitation of me. I could have 
done it better myself." 

Poor Rob, like all people possessed of conspicuous 
mannerisms, was never able to detect his even when 
emphasized by mimicry. One can never see himself in 
another. 

I appreciated this in after life when I was seated in 
the private box of the Broadway Theatre, New York. 
A young man named Alf Hampton had given what I 
considered some remarkably clever imitations of leading 
actors. Having somewhat of a reputation at that time 
in this same line and being rather conspicuous that 
evening I gave vent to my pleasure by applauding most 
vociferously all of his efforts. To my horror he ap- 
proached the footlights and announced an imitation of 
me! As he finished the applause from all over the house 
shook the rafters, but I could not discover one familiar 
tone. As he gave the imitation a friend of mine, seated 
in the front row, looked over and very audibly asked, 
"Well, what do you think of that, Nat?" I replied, 
"One of us is rotten." 

Poor Bradford dissipated his genius, and died, twenty 
odd years ago, in penury. I was not present at his death, 
but fortunately I arrived in time to save him from a 
pauper's grave, and he now sleeps tranquilly in beauti- 
ful Mt. Auburn with his poems and other children of his 
brain — a happy family known only to the elect. Adieu, 
dear friend. "Though lost to sight, to memory dear." 



30 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

Through all my theatrical career up to Robson's 
exit from life's theatre the closest association and dearest 
friendship existed between us. He was always my 
sponser, my adviser; and what knowledge he bestowed 
relative to the ethics of our art! Analytically he was 
master of more of the fundamental rules of acting than 
even Lawrence Barrett who was an authority. While 
Robson was never able to convey a sentimental thought 
by any facial expression or delivery, he could point out 
correctly the methods required to convey them. Had 
he not been handicapped by a vocal organ that squeaked 
forth only fun, his pathos would have equalled John E. 
Owens' or Joe Jefferson's. 

I shall never forget the time when Robson, Crane, and I 
appeared in an act of "Julius Caesar" at a benefit given 
to poor Tony Hart. Robson was the Cassius; Crane, 
Brutus, and I was cast for Antony. We gave the 
characters all the study and attention due to the great 
master and were firm in our resolution to play the 
respective roles with proper reverence, to bestow upon 
them all the tragic force and power within our capac- 
ities; but the public took the idea in a spirit of jest 
and came prepared to see us burlesque the characters, 
never assuming that we were in earnest in our purpose. 

The afternoon came. The theatre was packed. I 
was the first of the trio to make an entrance. For- 
tunately I came on with the mob and my few lines 
passed unnoticed, as none in front recognized me. To 
be sure I was denied the thrills of a reception, but I had 
the end of an act and was quite content to wait. 

The scene was soon over and the full stage of the old 
Academy of Music opened radiantly as Robson and 
Crane made their entrances as Cassius and Brutus. 
They came majestically forth and were greeted by 
applause that lasted fully a minute. They looked 
pictures. Forrest and Macready never looked more like 




Tony Hart 

He had the face of an Irish Apollo, did Tony Hart 



STUART ROBSON 31 

Roman senators than those two comedians as they 
acknowledged the plaudits with true tragic dignity. 
Then a hush, as the audience settled back for the ex- 
pected travesty. It needed only the familiar notes of 
Rob's voice to reassure them that they were right in 
their conjectures and a shout of laughter went up as he 
began the speech, "That I do love you, Brutus," etc. 
The shrieks of laughter interrupted his long thoughtout 
delivery. He paused. His face became livid even 
through his heavy make up. Then he began the speech 
again in a more modulated tone. The second time he 
got as far as "I do love you, Brutus," when another yell 
blared from the front. He again stopped, bit his lips 
with suppressed rage and waited a few seconds. It 
seemed an eternity to us in the entrance. Then Rob 
raised his hand and by a simple gesture commanded 
silence. 

The laughter soon quieted down as it became ap- 
parent that Robson was endeavoring to play the part 
legitimately and a subdued silence greeted him as he 
began his speech for the third time. He started in 
even a lower key and continued the speech. As he got 
into it he began to feel the meaning of the words and 
tried to read them with true expression. As he gave 
them the necessary emphasis his voice, that most ready 
of organs, refused to obey the dictation of the brain 
and the gradual crescendo required for the delivery 
became a succession of Robsoneyn squeaks! The 
audience loyally tried to suppress its hilarity. At first 
it smiled, then giggled, then peals of laughter hurled 
themselves across the footlights like shots from a Gat- 
ling gun. All upon the stage, except poor Robson, 
heard the merry storm. He was now thoroughly en- 
grossed and squeaked away to beat Gilmore's band, 
utterly oblivious of the fun he was creating. Thinner 
and thinner came Rob's squeak; louder and still louder 



32 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

came the laughter until it became a veritable avalanche. 
As he reached the line, 

"Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder the 
old Anchises bear" — 

He realized that the audience was laughing at him 
and he continued, 

"Did I, the tired Caesar, you blankety-blank, blan- 
kety-blank ! ", his added interpolation being really unfit 
for publication. 

Fortunately the laughter drowned the words. Had 
the audience heard them the performance would have 
ended then and there. We all thought that it must 
have heard, that the end had come. I prayed fer- 
vently that it had, but no such luck! It gradually 
quieted down and the play proceeded. When my turn 
came to end the act some of my friends said I did very 
creditably. At all events I got through without a 
laugh. And that I considered a triumph. We often 
referred to it in after life and always with great 
pleasure. 

Robson was a unique person, gifted with the most 
thorough sense of right and wrong of any man I ever 
knew. His word was a contract and with it went the 
liberality of a king. He absolutely refused to grow old 
and sought only the young. He tried to emulate the 
deeds of charity of the Good Samaritan and had a kind 
word for all humanity. He possessed the soul of a 
saint and the heart of a fawn. His motto was justice. 
He wrote the words and music of honor. 

In a spirit of jest he once promised a coachman a 
gift of five thousand dollars if the coachman succeeded 
in winning the hand and heart of a certain lady. He 
gave him one dollar on account never dreaming that 
the man would woo and win successfully. Imagine his 
surprise when six years later the man turned up and 
informed him of the date of the wedding. I happened 



STUART ROBSON 33 

to be present at the time at his summer place at Co- 
hasset, Mass. The coachman went his way and Rob 
told me of his promise. I said, "Surely, you are not 
going to make good a promise made in jest?" He 
answered, "I am," went inside the house and in a few 
minutes came back on the veranda with the cheque for 
four thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine dollars 
in his hand. He called his daughter and sent her 
down the road with the cheque in quest of the young 
coachman, with instructions to present it to him as a 
wedding gift "from S. Robson, Esquire," ordered a 
brandy and soda from his servant and rudely left me 
with instructions to " Go home ! " Knowing dear 
Rob's proclivities for B and S's, I loitered about for 
a few hours and then returned to the house, but Rob 
had disappeared. 

His daughter and I finally located him, with a few 
convivial friends in the hotel bar at Hingham. He 
called us to one side and quietly asked his daughter if 
she had performed the duty as requested. She an- 
swered, "Yes, papa, I gave him the cheque." Rob 
asked, "How did he take it?" His daughter replied, 
"Papa, he cried!" "How long did he cry?" asked Rob. 
"About a minute," she replied. "That's nothing," 
said Rob, "when I signed it I cried an hour!" 

I could fill pages with such deeds of his as this one 
and I knew him, man and boy, for thirty years. The 
world never knew a better man than Stuart Robson; 
a loving father, a dutiful husband, a great comedian, an 
honest actor and an upright American citizen. To quote 
from one of Boucicault's plays in which he appeared, 
"He had the soul of a Romeo and the face of a comic 
singer." 

God bless you, Rob, wherever you and our dear 
friend, Bob IngersoII, are! Move over, and leave a 
place for me! If it's hell, I'll invoke a blizzard; if 



34 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

Heaven, we shall need each other's companionship! 
We shall say that we were wrong down here and ask to 
be forgiven. 

Shall we be? 

I wonder! 




Chapter IV 

JOHN McCULLOUGH 

the end of the year 1882 I attracted 
the attention of the manager of the 
Dramatic Festival which was to be held 
at Cincinnati and was engaged to play 
H^^^^^^H the grave digger in " Hamlet " and Modus 
l^^^^^Si in "The Hunchback." Neither of these 
parts had ever been assumed by me prior to his engage- 
ment. It had always been my desire to appear in 
Shakespearean roles and other legitimate characters. 

The Dramatic Festival was a splendid success, artis- 
tically and financially. We began April 30, 1883, tne 
first performance being "Julius Caesar." My associates 
were John McCuIIough, Lawrence Barrett, James E. 
Murdoch, Mary Anderson, Mile. Rhea, Clara Morris 
and Kate Forsythe. The other plays given were "The 
Hunchback," "Much Ado About Nothing," "Othello," 
"Hamlet" and "Romeo and Juliet." The enterprise 
was managed by R. E. J. Miles and stage-managed by 
William H. Daly. The receipts for the week were in 
the neighborhood of a hundred thousand dollars. It 
was a happy time, marred only by our discovering that 
poor John McCuIIough was a doomed man, his mind 
showing a gradual decay. It was the beginning of the 
end, for in a few months the curtain rang down on dear 
John and he walked the stage no more. 

A great, big-hearted, genial soul was lovable John 
McCuIIough! Everybody loved him and who could 
help it? Broad-minded and equally broad-shouldered, 

35 



36 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

his companions ranged from prize-fighters to senators, 
wantons to duchesses. He was a splendid player and 
many suggestions have I received from him. He was a 
tragedian on the stage, a comedian off. I knew him 
for twenty years and in all that time, as intimate as we 
were, I always addressed him as "Mr." McCuIIough — 
and it annoyed him greatly. 

One night at the old St. James (New York) bar I 
greeted him with the usual salutation. He replied, 
"Damn it, my name is John!" I answered, "I don't 
care whether it is or not, I can't say it" — and I never 
did. To me he was a Roman senator and oh, how 
simple, how kind! I was always awed when in his 
presence. When we met and he slapped me on the 
back by way of comradeship my spine would open 
and shut. Maybe it was the vehemence of the attack, 
but I always attributed it to my admiration of the 
man. 

One noon I went into Delmonico's after a long siege 
of poker with the late Billy Scanlon, actor (and clever 
chap by the way), William Sinn, proprietor of the Park 
Theatre, Brooklyn, Billy Barry, Henry Watterson and 
John R. Fellows, District Attorney of New York City. 
I wanted a bracer badly, I can tell you, for we had 
participated in a very strenuous evening. As we en- 
tered, there was dear old McCuIIough having luncheon. 

I stopped, transfixed. He saw me and beckoned me 
to a seat at the table. I was terribly self conscious. 
He said, "Son, have a drink." I replied, rather timidly, 
"No, thank you." (I was slowly passing away.) He 
continued, "Well, you do drink, don't you?" "Yes," 
I replied, "once in awhile." "I mean you get drunk!" 
he insisted. I replied in the affirmative. "Good for 
you! I wouldn't give a damn for a man who didn't, 
occasionally!" he commented. "Is that right?" I 
queried. "Certainly," he replied. "Well, then," and 



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JOHN McCULLOUGH 37 

I yelled to the waiter, "Give me an absinthe frappe!" 
"That's right, my boy; and, waiter, make it two," he 
quietly remarked. 

We sat there for some time and soon I forgot all about 
my losses, listening to his fascinating stories of Edwin 
Forrest and the palmy days. 

He was a most entertaining man and my memory 
often returns to the many happy hours passed in the 
company of my good friend, "Mr." McCuIIough — 
"John" for short — and sweet — now. 




Chapter V 

SIR HENRY IRVING 

FTER the Dramatic Festival my wife and 
I embarked for Europe. It was during 
this time that I made the acquaintance 
of Henry Irving who was then managing 
successfully the Lyceum Theatre in Lon- 
don. Irving apparently took quite a 
fancy to me. He showed me many attentions and I 
was the recipient of many hospitalities at his hands. 

Irving was an extraordinary man in many ways and 
considering what nature had denied him his achieve- 
ments were little short of marvelous. Possessed of a 
voice of but little power, utterly lacking in grace, even 
ungainly and awkward in action, he was possessed of 
that occult power that made all those infirmities sub- 
servient to his fine intellect. 

I think that Irving had a wider knowledge than any 
man whom I have ever met in the theatrical world. 
So much has been written by able writers regarding this 
remarkable man's abilities that anything that emanates 
from me will seem puerile in comparison. 

Irving's humor always appealed to me, his sense of it 
ever being in evidence no matter how serious the sur- 
roundings. His utterances were subtly humorous and 
at times a little cynical, but never harsh, his gentleness 
of delivery always disguising the little cynicisms that 
might lurk beneath them. 

I remember lunching with him one afternoon at the 
Garrick Club. An actor named Kemble came in, a 

38 



SIR HENRY IRVING 39 

little under the influence of the succulent grape, and 
began bewailing the decline of the drama. He expa- 
tiated upon the downward trend of the player, express- 
ing great dissatisfaction over the then present conditions 
and his desire to "chuck it." He preferred solitude, 
away from the incompetency that he was forced to 
witness. He would like to build a shack and relieve 
himself from all these humiliating associations on some 
desert island. Irving, calmly wiping his glasses, looked 
at him for a moment and asked, "Why not try one of 
the Scilly Islands?" 

Another time an awful bore, one Fletcher, whom 
Irving detested, rushed up to him in a most affectionate 
manner, saying, "My dear Harry! whom do you suppose 
I met in Paris, last week?" Irving replied, "I have no 
idea. Paris is so filled with people." Fletcher con- 
tinued, "I know, dear Harry, but it was our old 
friend Graham — Charlie! You remember him." Irving 
grunted, "Ah!" Fletcher rattled on. "Well, Harry, you 
know we had not met for years and he accosted me right 
in front of the Louvre and placing both hands upon my 
shoulders he said, 'Great God! is this really Fletcher?'" 
Irving quietly looked up and queried, "And was it?" 

We passed many happy evenings, together with dear 
old Johnny Toole, at the Beefsteak Club. I look back 
with pleasure upon those improvised little suppers 
Irving used to bestow upon the visiting Americans and 
his fellow players upon the stage of the Lyceum after 
the evening performance. I have never seen such 
unostentatious, yet lavish, display as he exercised in 
those delightful hospitalities. They extended far into 
the night and many times the sun was up as he, Toole 
and I made the rounds of the Covent Garden Market 
where the butchers and fruit venders were as friendly 
disposed towards him as were the guests of the previous 
evening. 



40 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

I never knew when Irving slept. 

The last time we met was in his dressing-room at the 
Broadway Theatre, New York. I had just produced 
"A Midsummer Night's Dream" at a great outlay — a 
new experience for me at the time — investing a fortune 
on the production before receiving the verdict of the 
capricious public. It was an old story with Irving. 
As I shook hands with him he said, "Ah! Goodwin, my 
boy, I see you are indulging in a little Monte Carlo 
around the corner.' ' I answered, "Yes, Sir Henry, I 
have a big bet down on the single O." "Well," said 
he, "this business is a fascinating gamble no matter 
where the little ivory ball may land." 

The little ivory ball proved in the end very disap- 
pointing to this splendid player who did so much to 
dignify our art. For when the ball fell into the single 
"O" Sir Henry's bet was on the black, No. 23. Had 
he lived Jie would have found it impossible to indulge 
again in the dissipation of costly productions. 




Sir Henry Irving 

An extraordinary man 



Chapter VI 
BARRY" AND JEFFERSON 




HE world delights in sunny people." 
I recall many. 

Maurice Barrymore, actor, play- 
wright, raconteur, gentleman, all-around 
athlete and man of the world, was the 
most effulgent man whom I have ever 
met. A brain that scintillated sparks of wit that 
Charles Lamb or Byron might envy, a tongue capable 
of lashing into obscurity any one who dared enter into 
verbal conflict with him (yet always merciful to his 
adversary), with the wit of Douglas Jerrold without the 
cynicism, the courage of a lion, the gentleness of a 
saint — there you have but a faint conception of the 
qualities of this child of Bohemia. I knew him for 
twenty-five years and in all the many hours that we 
spent together I never saw him out of temper, never 
heard him utter one unkind expression nor speak a 
cruel word. Even under the most trying conditions he 
seldom permitted himself to use his rapier. And his 
muscle and brawn were always subordinates, servants, 
never masters. 

Fate hardly played fair with Barry. Perhaps the 
r jkle jade was fearful to bestow her best upon one whom 
the gods had created so powerfully brilliant. She al- 
lowed his genius to run purposelessly upon the sands 
of time until, jealous of the admiration which he won 
from all, she robbed him of his chief asset and hurled 
his fine mind from the cliffs of reason. 



42 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

I shall not dwell upon the passing away of this re- 
markable man — it is too terrible to recall — but I shall 
give the world a few of his quips and jibes, showing his 
brilliant wit. 

He gave the world much — a powerful play, " Nadjesda," 
sunshine and happiness and a legacy of three brilliant 
children, whom I knew as Barry's babies, whom I love 
for their own and their father's and mother's sakes — 

Ethel, John and Lionel — I greet you all ! 

Barry came into the Lambs Club one evening evi- 
dently much distressed. Asked the reason, he answered 
"I am terribly annoyed and excessively angry at the 
brutal treatment of Mrs. Bernard Beere by the press of 
New York." 

Barry was the leading man of Mrs. Beere's organiza- 
tion, the recipient of three hundred dollars a week and, 
in the foreshadowing of that lady's failure in a rather 
risque play, "As in a Looking Glass," felt his engagement 
trembling in the balance. 

"Brutal!" quoth the loquacious and severe Lackaye. 
"It was thoroughly deserved! I was there and I never 
saw such an immoral play in my life before a civilized 
community!" 

"Granted," replied Barry more, "but why censure the 
lady personally, a foreigner as well? We can at least be 
courteous. Only the offensive theme of the play was 
dwelt on; no attention was paid to her finesse and 
subtle art. That was all lost, due to the huge play- 
house in which we were forced to appear. Hammer- 
stein's was never intended to house acting that requires 
such delicate treatment; it should be devoted to opera, 
or the circus. Nothing ever gets beyond the third of 
fourth row." 

"Which is most fortunate," replied Lackaye. "You 
punish the musicians, and save the remaining rows, the 
suffering endured by those closer to the actors. I am 



"BARRY" AND JEFFERSON 43 

no prude, but I felt the blush of shame mounting to my 
cheeks as the terrible and unwholesome dialogue came 
over in chunks." 

"My boy," said Barrymore, "you don't comprehend 
the theme of that play. Dialogue amounts to nothing 
when problems are to be solved. Maybe the language 
suffered in the adaption but that does not palliate the 
offense perpetrated upon the lady who was endeavoring 
to perform a duty and teach a lesson by her consum- 
mate art." 

"You call that art," asked Lackaye, "a wanton, 
expounding her amorous successes? What edification 
can that give? I tell you, Barrymore, you may be all 
right in your argument but the performance was simply 
nauseating, nasty and suggestive. The whole thing 
reeked with filth!" 

"I know," said Barrymore, quickly but quietly, "but 
you fail to realize, my dear Lackaye, that Hammer- 
stein's is a theatre where one may be obscene and not 
heard." , 

Barry was chided by one of his friends for not going 
to see Sothern's "Hamlet" which he was playing for the 
first time at the Garden Theatre with mediocre success. 

"Why don't you go and witness a performance?" 
asked a friend. "Go and sit out only one act*" 

Barrymore replied, "My boy, I never encourage vice." 

Dear old Frank Mayo who was passionately fond of 
argument, after exchanging the usual greetings with 
Barrymore one afternoon, soon became engaged in a 
very heated controversy. Mayo would project an idea 
and before Barrymore could get breath enough to 
answer would spring another. Mayo had put several 
vital questions to Barry to his own entire satisfaction 
and answered them with equal satisfaction before Barry 
had a chance even to offer a reply. 

"My dear Barry," said Mayo; "it is a pleasure 



44 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

indeed to meet a man of your calibre — to interchange 
thoughts and ideas with one so brilliantly gifted as 
yourself." 

"How do you know anything about my mental capac- 
ity? " asked Barry. "I never get any further with you 
than 'Yes, but'!" 

Barry went home late, or rather early, one Sunday 
morning after a long session at the club. He met his 
wife on the stoop of their dwelling. She evidently was 
on her way to church. As Barry said afterwards, "She 
was made up for the part perfectly and had a prompt 
book with her." She simply bowed haughtily and was 
about to pass on when he apologized for being away all 
night, finishing with, "Oh, by the way, Georgie, dear, I 
was with Geoff Hawley last evening." "Indeed," said 
jtiis wife, "I thought Hawley was a man!" This was a 
body blow to Barry but he took his punishment smil- 
ingly and as she disappeared down the steps shouted 
after her, "Where are you bound for, dearie?" To 
which, without turning, she replied, "I'm going to mass; 
you can go to ! 

"Summer isn't as bad as it is painted," remarked 
Barrymore as he calmly contemplated a landscape 
picture, painted by Joseph Jefferson, hanging on the 
walls of the Lambs Club. This criticism came from 
one who knew whereof he spoke concerning the climatic 
conditions of the Rialto during the hot months when the 
thespian is prone to talk about the summer's adversity. 
Barrymore was equally conversant with the value of 
paintings. His remark fell like a bomb among the 
sycophants who were ever ready to praise even a chromo 
were it oiled over by the illustrious player they were 
pleased to call "The Dean of the Drama." 

The adulation paid to Jefferson's landscape was but a 
reflex of the homage paid to this player by all those not 
"in the know." 



"BARRY" AND JEFFERSON 45 

Dear old Joseph Jefferson was loved by all those who 
came under his magnetic influence. A delightful, scin- 
tillating, keen, old man, possessed of rare technique, 
exquisite repose and the touch of a master (but always 
guarded as to the manner of touch!). He touched an 
effect but never assaulted it, as Mansfield did. Con- 
scious of his limitations he never ventured upon danger- 
ous ice and always left his auditors wishing that he 
might have been endowed with a more venturesome 
spirit. He always wisely refrained from pioneering upon 
original ground, quite content to pasture in the Sheridan 
and Boucicault downs. 

For four weeks I studied this man when I appeared 
some years ago in an "all star" cast of "The Rivals." 
My associates were Julia Marlowe, William H. Crane, 
the Holland boys, Francis Wilson, Fanny Rice and Mrs. 
John Drew. 

(What a performance Mrs. Drew gave! She put the 
play in her gown every night and took it home with her 
and the management told me that her salary for the 
tour was less than that paid to Francis Wilson! My 
weekly stipend was far in excess of hers and every night 
after viewing her performance I was really ashamed to 
take the money.) 

During that artistic trip (five dollars a seat makes 
anything artistic) I watched Mr. Jefferson day and night. 
He was most kind to me and attentive (for reasons 
which he afterwards explained). 

Some one had told him that I associated with his sons 
a great deal; consequently I was not a desirable person 
to have in any first class organization! He had given 
up all hope regarding his sons so he thought that he 
.would have a try at my redemption. My conduct was 
so exemplary, however, that the third week he apolo- 
gized to me and earnestly begged that during the rest 
of the tour I kindly look after him. As Willie, Joe and 



46 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

Tom were really wielding a bad influence over the 
artistic congregation I took the job and firmly believe 
that I improved his morals to a great extent. (I tried 
to reform Wilson, too, but met with failure!). 

I watched this charming man for days and parts of 
some nights. I never missed any of his scenes and dur- 
ing the performance when not concerned in the play I 
was always watching him from the entrance. I ab- 
sorbed his methods in his interpretation of Bob Acres 
and while he was not my ideal I think that his inter- 
pretation was really better than the author intended. 
I used to shriek with laughter listening to his curtain 
speeches or, rather, his curtain speech. Like his per- 
formance it never varied — always the same, never a 
change, standing in the same position, no altering of 
intonation or gesture, everything given by rote, but 
always with fine effect. 

After those performances, I would walk to the private 
car, go over "The Rivals" as I had seen it performed and 
wonder if any of us, with the exception of Mrs. Drew, 
were anything like the characters of Sheridan's brain. 
I became firmly convinced that one was not — myself. 
Were the others? Was he, "The Dean," anything like 
what the author intended Bob Acres to be? Then I 
would ponder over the night speech of the dear old 
gentleman, remembering the homage that he paid to the 
author, his reference to the artistic rendering that they 
were giving his work, the extreme pleasure it afforded 
him and his comrades to have the privilege of acting 
such a comedy as this. Then with a five-dollar-trem- 
bling voice he would bewail the fact that Sheridan was 
not permitted to view this wonderful interpretation of 
his work. Choking with sobs that hardly gave his words 
utterance, he would refer to past performances by 
lamented actors and thank the audience for its atten- 
tion. Concluding with a semi-congratulatory reference 




1 
S 

I 



z a? 
o g 

£■* 

H 

O 



"BARRY" AND JEFFERSON 47 

to its being permitted to view this wonderfully artistic 
performance, the benign old gentleman would make his 
bow, deftly wiping away a tear, amid the plaudits of 
the throng. 

After listening to all this, I became convinced that we 
were artistic. At least my associates were. (I was on 
to myself from the first night.) They must have been 
terribly artistic. The sprint from the theatre to the 
private car, participated in by Joseph Brooks, the 
Jefferson boys, and the dear old gentleman (with Charles 
Jefferson in the lead, with the nightly receipts), con- 
vinced me that they were! They would arrive at the 
car — panting — and falling into their seats prepare to 
divide the artistic spoils, "The Dean" taking fifty per 
cent. As I viewed this "Chimes of Normandy" episode 
my artistic side went to the winds and I knew that we 
were as commercial as Cohan and Harris are now. 

Then I began, by comparison, to study this man, and 
wonder what he had accomplished for the drama. Had 
he built a playhouse, like the man of his hour and time, 
Edwin Booth? Had he produced any original plays, 
made any production, or even leased a theatre, like 
Mansfield, or Sothern, Irving, or Possart? Had he 
during the last decade created any characters? An 
echo answered "No!" Then what had he done from 
the time of his association with Laura Keene (at which 
time he was considered only a fair actor as compared 
with Charles Burke, John E. Owens, William E. Burton 
and William Blake) to the time of his becoming con- 
spicuous in the eyes of the American public? 

Briefly, he returned from London after a successful 
engagement, having previously occupied his time for 
three years in Australia producing successfully American 
plays; then launched forth in a revised edition of "Rip 
Van Winkle," a play previously performed with success 
by his half brother, Charles Burke. For thirty years 



48 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

or more he presented Rip to the dear American public 
with intermittent changes to "The Rivals," "Caleb 
Plummer," Dr. Pangloss in "The Heir at Law" and 
"Lend me Five Shillings." The revival of these latter 
plays met with little pecuniary success unless he added 
names to the cast, featuring conspicuously such artists 
as William Florence or Mrs. John Drew. After a brief 
tour he would again drift back to dear old Rip and 
dear old scenery with some of the dear old gentleman's 
dear old family dominating the cast. Thus he went 
on for years, and posterity will say that he was "a 
great actor," "beloved by all." 

Yet he lived among the great producers of his era — 
without producing! 

Irving, who died almost penniless and who invested 
thousands of dollars in an earnest endeavor to uphold 
the drama, Lawrence Barrett and dear Edwin Booth, 
who lost a million in erecting a temple to Art only to 
see his name chiseled out by a dry goods establishment 
— these were truly great men. 

I concede that Joseph Jefferson was "a great actor" 
as Rip — a most benign person, a charming companion. 
For this man I have the most profound respect; for 
what he did for the stage I have not. His performance 
of "Rip Van Winkle" was perhaps a very great one (I 
never saw Charles Burke). As for Bob Acres, I can 
only quote a really great actor, William Warren — 
"Jefferson played Bob in 'The Rivals' with Sheridan 
twenty miles away." 

I have seen two men who are alive to-day play Sir 
Lucius O'Trigger in "The Joseph Jefferson Version of 
'The Rivals' " and I have played it. 

Which leaves me to imagine that all those who made 
a hit in the part are dead! 



Chapter VII 
A SUNNY SON OF SOMETIME 



*MmK«*w \gl SUNNY SON of Sometime was Peter 

' A "7 i Dailey. When the Creator called him 

Zj\ I to join the merry throng that had 

/ vv ; passed before the world lost one of the 

J \ sweetest characters that I have ever 

a HnHHaHBH Q known. His memory will go laughing 
down the ages. 

There were no clouds when Pete pranced among the 
men and women of the profession. He met you with 
the honest grip of a man and a smile that only the 
seraphs can appreciate. Never an unkind word left the 
brain that invented only sweet and wholesome sallies. 
The wit of a Sheridan and a repartee that made it an 
impertinence to attack made him impervious to all 
retort. As gentle as a fawn, as brave as a warrior, Pete 
Dailey was a man among men. 

During a friendship of over twenty-five years I never 
heard him utter a profane word or use an obscene ex- 
pression. No adjective w T as necessary to enhance a 
story of his, no preface to foretell the trend of his wit — 
which was as quick as the flight of a rifle ball. 

When he was on tour with his own company some 
years ago he was chided for his familiarity with his 
company by a German comedian, AI Wilson. Wilson 
told him that he was losing his dignity by even associat- 
ing with the members of his organization, following this 
by saying, "Why, Pete, I do not even speak to my 

49 



50 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

company !" Pete replied, "Well, if I had a company 
like yours, I would not speak to them either." 

It was useless for any author to give Pete lines to 
speak, his interpretations were so much better than any 
lines the author could invent. I well remember one of 
the first nights at Weber and Field's Music Hall, New 
York. He had a scene with Charles Bigelow who had 
apparently given much thought and study to his part. 
Bigelow was a bald-headed, blatant, obvious comedian 
who was principally engaged to make children laugh or 
frighten them to death. They started in on the scene 
and after a few words of the text Dailey threw his lines 
to the winds and in a few moments had Bigelow tied 
into knots. Bigelow stood there, hopelessly fuzzled, 
while the audience yelled with delight at his discom- 
fiture. Finally, enraged and mortified, the perspiration 
pouring off him, he removed his hat to mop his brow. 
Quick as a flash Pete said, "Put your hat on; you're 
naked!" This was too much for Bigelow and he rushed 
off the stage. 

I could fill pages with a recital of this man's many 
gifts, his goodly deeds. Would there were more Pete 
Daileys! The world would be better, humanity more 
gentle, hypocrisy unknown; fewer tears would be shed 
and the journey through life made lighter. 



Chapter VIII 
CHARLES HOYT 




URING the early '8o's a young man 
jumped into the theatrical arena, having 
previously graduated from the editorial 
rooms of the Boston "Post" where he 
had achieved some degree of success as 
a comic writer and dramatic critic. He 
was a man of considerable education with an absorbing 
insight into character. In this respect he was like the 
present George Cohan. But he had more refinement 
than Cohan and was more of a caricaturist than he. 
He had little charm but possessed a brand of cynical 
humor which appealed to men, seldom to women. All 
his characters were well defined. For about fifteen 
years his plays were received with much favor and had 
he lived I have no doubt that he would have proved a 
dangerous rival to the clever Cohan. His name was 
Charles Hoyt. 

His financial partner, Charles Thomas, was my seat 
mate at the Little Blue Maine Academy and it was 
through him that I became acquainted with the versa- 
tile Hoyt. For whatever charm poor Hoyt lacked 
Charles Thomas made amends as he was one of the 
handsomest and most fascinating of men. He died very 
young. That cruel censor Death was the master that 
beckoned him to Phoenix, Arizona, where he passed 
away. 

Hoyt was noted for his pungent and satirical humor. 
When in his cups he was most poignant and insulting, 

51 



52 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

never sparing even his best friends. One night in a 
cafe adjoining the Bijou Theatre he was very rude to 
me. I realized his condition and was silent, but the 
first time I met him sober I demanded an apology, 
which he gave, but not with very good grace. A few 
months later Bert Dasher, one of his business friends, 
told me that Hoyt met him one cold, frosty night in 
January in front of the Hoffman House and after vainly 
endeavoring to explain our quarrel imparted the in- 
formation that I had talked to him pretty roughly and 
he was determined to revenge himself. Hoyt had taken 
lessons in the manly art of self-defense. 

"I realize that Nat is alert and dangerous," he told 
Bert, "so I am going to accost him unawares, feint him 
with my left hand and uppercut him on the point of 
the jaw." He accompanied the remark with a down- 
ward swing from the shoulder to the knee. The force 
of the swinging gesture hurled him into the middle of 
Broadway where he fell in a semi-conscious state until 
Bert came to his rescue and took him home. 

The first night of my production of "Nathan Hale" 
Hoyt had assured me of his intention of being present 
with his wife. But when the time came she refused to 
accompany him. Charley, having purchased two tickets 
and not desiring to be alone, sought someone to go with 
him. He soon found a friend and invited him to come 
along. Much to Hoyt's astonishment his friend quietly 
but firmly refused the invitation. "Why not?" asked 
Hoyt. His friend replied, "I don't like Goodwin." 
"Well," said Charley, "you like him as an artist, don't 
you?" His friend replied, "No, I don't like him, on or 
off the stage." "Well," said Hoyt, "come along; you 
are sure to enjoy this play for they hang Nat in the last 
act." 

"Have you any idea what the price of American 
beauties is?" asked a friend of Hoyt's one day, referring 



CHARLES HOYT 53 

to the exorbitant charges of the florists. "I ought to" 
answered the witty Hoyt, "I married one." 

Years after I indulged in flowery dissipation for I 
married a bunch and yet there are some curious crea- 
tures who wondered why I was appearing in vaudeville 
while Hoyt was playing a harp. 




Chapter IX 

SIR CHARLES WYNDHAM 

IR CHARLES WYNDHAM is a remark- 
able man in many ways, a delightful 
actor, a splendid manager and a most 
sagacious business man. Of prepossess- 
ing appearance, he is further blessed 
with a slight figure which he keeps even 
after passing the age of seventy. He still manages to 
win approval in jeune premiere roles in spite of a most 
disagreeable, rasping voice. He is ably assisted, artis- 
tically and managerially, by Miss Mary Moore. He 
has won a place on the English stage second to none. 
What a blessing to win fame on the English stage! 
No impertinent references to one's age; no vulgar in- 
ferences concerning the social position of any player! 
How like our own delightfully free country! (It's so 
different.) 

One afternoon at the Green Room Club while actors of 
renown and some just budding were seated at the long 
table enjoying the "two and six" dinner, Sir Charles 
came in. He had just finished his matinee performance 
of "David Garrick" with which he was packing the 
Criterion Theatre. They have a chair in the club, sup- 
posed to have been the property of Garrick. Wyndham 
sank into it, seemingly overcome by his efforts of the 
afternoon. (Many of the poor devils dining would 
have liked to share his exhaustion.) 

A very clever dramatist named Hamilton, looking up, 
caught sight of him and in a quizzical tone remarked, 

54 




Sir Charles Wyndham 
A remarkable man 



SIR CHARLES WYNDHAM 55 

"Wyndham, you make rather a fetching picture, sitting 
in the original Garrick Chair — and, what is most re- 
markable, you are absolutely playing the character!" 

Wyndham nodded back a mumbling and patronizing 
answer, evidently pleased with the interest that he was 
creating. 

Hamilton studied his victim a moment and then said, 
"By Jove, Wyndham, do you know, you are more and 
more like Garrick every day and less and less like him 
every night!" 




Chapter X 

CHARLES R. THORNE, Jr. 

HAT an extraordinary, complex creature 
was Charles R. Thorne, Jr. 

Beginning a stage career under the 
management of his father, an actor of 
considerable repute in the '4o's, young 
Charlie soon developed into a leading 
actor of the old school, a ranting, vigorous player, 
declamatory and thoroughly devoid of repose. He 
gradually drifted from California to the East and during 
the '6o's became the leading man of the then well 
known Boston Theatre Stock Company. There he re- 
mained for several seasons supporting all the leading 
players then starring throughout the United States, in- 
cluding such celebrated artists as Edwin Forrest, Edwin 
Booth, Lawrence Barrett, Charlotte Cushman, Lotta, 
Edwin Adams and many others. 

Of an extremely jovial disposition, never dissipated 
but fond of company, naturally witty and an extremely 
courageous man, he soon worked himself into the hearts 
of the Boston public. He was not particularly versatile, 
but had a splendid personality and a magnificent phy- 
sique — marred only by a head too small for the quality 
of intelligence such a figure demanded. However, he 
was a royal picture to contemplate, particularly in 
romantic and Shakespearean roles. In these he truly 
suggested the "Greek god." He gave his professional 
work little thought and was quite content to bask in the 

sunshine of the encomiums of press and friends until 

5 6 



CHARLES R. THORNE, Jr. 57 

Dion Boucicault discovered latent talents which even 
Thorne himself did not know he possessed. 

Boucicault was about to produce one of his plays, 
"Led Astray," at the Union Square Theatre, New York, 
and selected Thorne to create the leading role. Taking 
him under his wing for a few months he succeeded in 
transforming the man. Under his able tutelage Thorne, 
discarding his ranting and mouthing methods, awoke the 
morning after the premiere of "Led Astray" to find him- 
self famous. He became founder of the modern school 
of suppressed, natural acting and the most convincing 
actor of the American stage. 

He was not a man easily handled and had no respect 
for the rules and regulations of any theatre. He was 
in constant difficulties with A. M. Palmer, manager of 
the Union Square, but Palmer realized Thome's value 
and put up with many annoyances from him. Thorne 
held despotic sway, much to the amusement of his 
companion players who loved him as they loathed the 
management. Palmer exercised every means within 
his power to humiliate Thorne, casting him for leading 
heavies for instance, but Thome's convincing methods 
always made the hero look ridiculous. In the play 
"False Shame," in which he was cast for the villain, he 
took all the sympathy from the hero and of course 
killed the property. 

Palmer brought over the late Charles Coghlan at a 
salary of $1,000 a week — Thome's salary had never 
gone beyond $125! — and cast them both to create 
simultaneously the leading role in "A Celebrated Case," 
giving Coghlan the quodus of the New York and Thorne 
the Pittsburgh opening. I saw Coghlan's opening. He 
gave a marvelously thoughtout performance and made 
a tremendous hit. I saw Thorne some weeks after and 
told him of my impressions. 

I remarked, "Charlie, I think that Palmer has got 



58 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

you at last." He observed, "Yes, I hear that that chap 
Coghlan is an actor. I am up the spout as Palmer 
intends playing me at the Grand Opera House in two 
weeks and I guess the boys will get me as that- English 
fellow has had the first whack at them and they will 
have the chance to compare us in the same role." I 
said, "Well, I am going in front to-night and I will tell 
you what I think." Before leaving his dressing-room I 
added, "Charlie, if you take my advice you won't go to 
New York. Be ill, and let your understudy go on." 
He laughed and, waving his hand, cried, "All right, 
sonny boy, I may take your advice!" 

I went in front and after the performance I rushed 
back into his dressing-room and yelled, "For God's 
sake, don't get ill! Get to New York as soon as 
possible!" 

I had never seen such a performance! While you 
admired Coghlan's technique and art, Thorne gave you 
no time to think of anything — he was so real, so con- 
vincing. He drowned all judgment with the tears his 
acting started. You simply sobbed your heart out. 

In a few weeks Thorne went to New York and 
amazed the public. In a short time Coghlan's name 
headed the road company and Thorne was snugly 
housed again at the Union Square Theatre where he 
remained a Czar for many years, until John Stetson 
engaged him to star in "Monte Cristo," a play made 
famous by the French actor, Charles Fechter. He 
opened at Booth's Theatre to a $3,500 house. The 
streets were packed for blocks by a swaying, eager 
multitude ready to pay homage to an actor who for 
twenty years had been their idol and whose salary was 
never more than $150 a week at any time. 

He was very ill on the opening night — in fact he was 
dying on the stage before his beloved public, but no 
one knew it. The fact that his performance was most 



CHARLES R. THORNE, Jr. 59 

unsatisfactory gave no one an inkling of the truth. 
He was driven home after the play, and never appeared 
again, dying in a few weeks. Just as power was within 
his grasp, they rang the curtain down and poor Thome's 
soul passed into the great beyond. 

AH of the Thorne family were possessed of a wonder- 
ful sense of humor. I, as I have said, knew them all — 
Charles, William and Edwin and their father and mother. 
Many happy evenings have I passed with this delightful 
family. They were truly, to quote from Dumas' "Three 
Guardsmen," "One for all, and all for one!" Charles 
had a much keener sense of the ridiculous than the 
others and he would exercise it even in a serious scene, 
if for no other reason than to break up the players. 

One day at the old Niblo's Garden in New York, 
Charlie came to play a two weeks' starring engagement 
for his father who was at that time the lessee of the 
theatre. I was a member of the company playing 
general utility. Business was very, very bad and the 
advent of Charles did not enhance the exchequer of the 
theatre. We were playing a Scotch drama, "Roderick 
Dhu." Charles and his father had a powerful scene, 
ending an act. The old gentleman spoke the tag, saying 
to Charlie, "If you are King James of Scotland, I am 
Roderick Dhu!" Before the curtain fell upon the line 
Charlie, who had bribed the prompter to delay its 
coming down on the direct cue, took out a large docu- 
ment and said, "Yes, Mr. Thorne, and your rent is due." 

When the curtain fell the old man chased his son out 
of the theatre and in a fit of passion swore he would not 
allow the play to continue. Charles came back, apolo- 
gized and the play proceeded. 

Boucicault took him and Stuart Robson to London to 
play in " Led Astray." Charlie made a great hit and poor 
Rob a dire failure. Robson's failure Charlie took to 
heart as his love for Rob was unbounded. After about 



60 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

six weeks three gentlemen, the proprietors of the Drury 
Lane and Covent Garden theatres, called on Thome 
and Robson at their chambers with a proposition to 
Thorne for a long engagement. He listened to their 
patronizing suggestions as to a consummation of the 
deal and, pointing to Rob, asked, "Is my pal included 
in this?" When told that their business was with him 
solely he cried, "Out upon ye for arrant knaves! I'll 
not play at Dreary's Lane nor at Covey's Garden either!" 
They thought he was mad and quickly withdrew. 




Charles R. Thorne, Jr. 

A royal picture to contemplate 




Chapter XI 

SOL SMITH RUSSELL 

HAT a dear, delightful humbug was Sol 
Smith Russell. By humbug I mean 
nothing disparaging for Sol was one of 
the sweetest natures I have ever met. 
But he was a most eccentric person, a 
combination of good and a tiny bit of 
bad, with the aspect of a preacher and the inclination 
of a beau and man about town. If Sol had had the 
moral courage I am sure he would have turned out a 
roue. He worshipped the beautiful, particularly in 
woman, was passionately fond of gambling and loved the 
cup that soothes and comforts. Yet he indulged his 
foibles only in solitude. Very few knew the real man. 
There was nothing vicious in his nature. He was 
merely alert, artistically inclined. He was a genius in 
his quiet and inoffensive dissipation. Of a frugal turn 
of mind, he became commercial when he loosed his 
mental bridle and gave himself his head. 

Tommy Boylan of Guy's Hotel, Baltimore, told me 
that Sol, evidently contemplating a slight debauch, 
asked him in his bland way the price of gin cocktails. 
Tommy replied, "Fifteen cents per." "How much a 
dozen?" asked Sol. "To you," answered Tommy, 
"ten cents." "Two dozen to my room, please," said 
Sol. At the door he turned and added, "By the way, 
Tommy, ten per cent off for cash and thus enable me to 
reimburse the bell boy. And, Tommy, be sure and 
have them made separately and send six at a time 
when I ring the bell." 

61 



62 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

In this way Sol would have his little spree with only 
his mirror for a companion and emerge the next clay 
spick and span with two bottles of an aperient water 
added to his account. By noon he would be found 
officiating at some church function or passing tea at 
some lady's seminary. 

I never considered Sol a very great actor on the 
stage — but a marvel off. He was a splendid enter- 
tainer and sketch artist, but he had higher ambitions. 
His greatest was to wear the mantle of Jefferson whom 
he worshipped. 

We three were supping one night at the Richelieu 
Hotel, Chicago. Jefferson had previously suggested to 
me the idea of my playing Doctor Pangloss in "The Heir 
at Law," endeavoring to point out the many benefits 
I would bestow by appearing in that character. I 
listened with much respect but refused, knowing how 
old fashioned were both the play and role. Sol, how- 
ever, was not proof against the clever old gentleman's 
blandishments and fell for the suggestion. The fact of 
appearing in any character made famous by the astute 
old fox was enough for the guileless Sol. I knew Jeffer- 
son wanted some one to play the part only to court 
comparisons. To prove his interest in Sol's future, 
Jefferson presented him with his entire wardrobe, even 
to the shoes and awful wig. Sol was delighted at the 
prospect and accepted them readily. When told of this 
at the supper that evening, I turned to Sol and said, 
"Well, the press has been hurling Mr. Jefferson's mantle 
at me for years, but you have undressed him. I guess 
I'll have to wear my own." 

Jefferson seemed to enjoy the sally but I'm afraid 
Sol failed to appreciate my remarks or gather my 
meaning. It would have been better for him if he had, 
for later he produced the play and met with instant 
failure. 



SOL SMITH RUSSELL 63 

While touring in the all star cast of "The Rivals" I 
called on an old and esteemed friend of mine at Chicago 
— the bar keeper at the Grand Pacific Hotel — who 
informed me that my friend Sol Smith Russell and he 
had spent a most enjoyable evening the night before. 
Sol had left him at about two a. m. saying he was 
looking forward to our appearing in "The Rivals" with 
joyous anticipation. I asked about Sol's health and 
capacity. The bar keeper replied, "He's fine. I have 
his tabs for sixty dollars." I gasped, "Not cocktails!" 
He replied, "No, pints." 

The next afternoon at the matinee after the first act 
Sol's card came up to Mr. Jefferson's dressing-room 
(which I shared on tour). Of course he was admitted 
at once. Not appearing in the first act, I was preparing 
the finishing touches to my make-up in a remote corner 
of the room and was not seen by Sol. He rushed over 
to Jefferson who warmly greeted him. Sol was most 
enthusiastic over the performance of the first act. 
Standing in the center of the room, safely braced by both 
hands on a massive oak table he gushed forth as follows : 

' 'My dear Joseph, I have never seen such acting, such 
art. Surely Sheridan in his grave must appreciate such 
artistic values as are being dealt with this afternoon, 
such — " 

Then came a long pause and his eyes closed as if he 
were in deep meditation — I knew it was a hold over — 
then his lids started open and he gathered up the thread 
of his complimentary- effusion : — 

"Such superb treatment, delicacy, subtlety, and — " 
again a pause and the same closing of the eyes, the 
awakening and continuation : — 

"Your work is a revelation and great object lesson to 
the students of the drama, the commingling of the older 
and younger elements only lends a charm to the works 
of the grand master and," 



64 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

Again the pause, and on his awakening after this last 
standing siesta, he discovered my presence. 

"Ah, Nattie, I hear splendid reports of your Sir 
Lucius , Trigger. ,, 

I inquired from whom as I had been kept in ignorance 
of any. He said from every one. 

"And now, my good friend," said Sol, addressing 
Jefferson, "I must leave you as I don't want to miss 
Nat's first scene, the opening of the second act." 

Bowing, he made his exit, his left hand deftly placed 
upon the wall of the room as he guided himself in a 
somewhat circuitous way to the door. As he was bent 
directly opposite, I went to his assistance and led him 
outside, detecting a slight odor of what seemed to me 
gin fizzes. I bade him adieu and returned to my dress- 
ing table. Jefferson appeared much gratified. 

"Sol is awfully pleased apparently and was most 
gracious," he said. I answered, "Yes, for a tired man, 
Sol spoke remarkably well." Jefferson, who was very 
literal, asked, "Is Sol tired?" I replied, "He ought to 
be with that load he is carrying." 

Said Jefferson, "What load is he carrying?" 

"A basket of lovely peaches," quoth I. 

"I didn't notice he had a parcel with him," replied 
Jefferson. 

"He is tanked up to the collar button," I said. 
"Oh, what a lovely skate he has!" 

"Tanked up to the collar button and skate? What 
the devil are you talking about. You have a vernacu- 
lar, my dear Nat, that requires translation. What are 
you talking about?" 

"Didn't you notice his condition?" I asked. "He's 
loaded to the eyebrows." 

"Tight?" asked Jefferson. 

"As a new drum," I replied. 

"I can't realize it," said Jefferson. "My eyesight 



SOL SMITH RUSSELL 65 

prevented my scanning his face as accurately as I could 
wish. I noticed his conversation was a bit measured, 
but very well expressed. I can't believe he was under 
the influence of liquor. Are you sure?" 

I replied with much pride in my delivery, "You can't 
deceive an artist." 

Jefferson simply screamed at this remark and during 
the afternoon repeated the incident several times to 
each and every member of the company. It met with 
so much favor and seemed to amuse the people to such 
an extent that for several years, by imitating both Sol 
and Jefferson, I made it one of the best stories of my 
repertoire. 

I once told the story to a number of actors at the 
Green Room Club in London. At the finish, "You 
can't deceive an artist," it failed to provoke the laughter 
it always aroused in America and I thought I noticed a 
look of blank amazement on my auditors' faces. I 
paid no attention to it at the time, attributing their 
lack of appreciation to their density or their limited 
acquaintance with the mannerism of the gentlemen 
I was imitating. Three weeks later Fred Terry met me on 
the Strand and with much gravity apologized for the silent 
manner his confreres at the club had received my story. 

"My dear Nat," said Terry, "the lads entirely mis- 
took your meaning. They thought you were putting 
on a lot of side and when you pointed to yourself with 
that egotistical gesture and proclaimed yourself an 
artist, they thought it in exceedingly bad taste. I have 
been all this time taking each one aside and telling 
him that was not your meaning at all; that you were 
a very modest man for an American. You were simply 
telling your superior officer what a drunkard you were. 
Now they thoroughly understand the story and won't 
you please come to-night and tell the story over again?" 

Which request I politely but firmly refused. 



66 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

The last time I saw poor Sol was at a luncheon at 
the home of the late Stillson Hutchins given in our 
joint honor at Washington. Now both are gone. God 
bless their memory. Adieu, good friends. 

A few nights after telling this story, I was relating the 
incident to Beerbohm Tree at a supper party. He 
agreed with me as to the density of the average Britisher 
so far as appreciating American humor is concerned. 
He told me he understood it thoroughly. As the supper 
progressed we were entertained by song and story, con- 
tributed by the guests. In my turn I told of an incident 
that happened in Denver. 

I had come in from one of the clubs very late and 
directed the clerk at the hotel to call me at 5 a. m. 
sharp, impressing upon him that I was a very heavy 
sleeper. Having only a few hours to rest I wanted him 
to be sure to rap on the door as loudly as possible and 
not go away until he heard a response from me. It 
was vital I make the train for Leadville and it left at 
6 o'clock. 

An Irish porter standing near overheard my instruc- 
tions and volunteered to assume the responsibility of 
awakening me on time. I handed him a dollar and 
retired to my room, a cold, bleak apartment, and was 
soon asleep between the icy sheets. It seemed but a 
few minutes until I was awakened by a most violent 
knocking on my door. I shouted, " What's the matter?" 

"Are yez the man that left the call for the five 
o'clock train?" I answered, "Yes." 

"Well," came the reply from outside, "go back to 
sleep. Your train's gone." 

Several of the guests laughed loudly. Tree, however, 
looked blank and ejaculated, "The silly man should 
have been discharged for incompetency." 

I hurriedly left the party and told no more stories 
that summer. 




Chapter XII 

RICHARD MANSFIELD 

AD I known as much then as I do 
now or had my youthful obduracy been 
less pronounced the sudden rise to 
heights of fame which marked Richard 
Mansfield's career might never have 
happened — in any event it would have 
been postponed. 

It was while I was rehearsing in "The Black Flag," a 
melodrama which won much success later, that a gifted 
journalist, A. R. Cazauran, who was then acting in the 
capacity of play reader, adapter and general factotum 
for Shook and Palmer, the lessees of the Union Square 
Theatre, came to see me. After watching the rehearsal 
Cazauran decided that I was sacrificing my time and 
talent with "such drivel as 'The Black Flag.' " When 
the rehearsal was finished he insisted upon my ac- 
companying him to Mr. Palmer's office, as he had 
something of great importance to communicate to 
me. After seating ourselves at Mr. Palmer's desk, he 
said, 

"Goodwin, I am now going to give you the oppor- 
tunity of your life. We are going to produce a play 
called 'A Parisian Romance.' J. H. Stoddard has been 
rehearsing the part of the Baron, but he has decided not 
to play it, feeling that he does not suit the character." 
Cazauran then continued in his delightfully broken 
English that that was the part he had in mind for me 
and it would suit me "down to the ground." The 

67 



68 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

character of Baron Chevreal was that of a man of middle 
age; but a young man, with virility, was necessary 
to act the death scene which required tremendous force. 
He brought out the manuscript and read me the entire 
play. When he had finished, I said, 

"For the love of heaven, Cazauran, why did you 
select me to play that grewsome tragedy role?" 

"Because I think you can play it," he replied. 

I was dumbfounded. "Why, I am a comedian, and 
it looks to me as though that part were made to order 
for Stoddard." 

Cazauran shrugged his shoulders and, placing both 
hands on mine, observed in a most impressive manner: 

"Goodwin, you are a comedian and, I grant, a fine 
one. So was Garrick, but no one remembers Garrick in 
comedy." 

How true that was, and how often that expression 
has come back to me in after life! They seldom remem- 
ber those who make them laugh. 

"You accept this part of the Baron," Cazauran con- 
tinued, "give me three hours of your time each day for 
three weeks and I will guarantee that you will never 
play a comedy part again. I and the Baron will make 
you famous." 

I sincerely thanked him, but firmly declined to be 
made famous in that particular line. We adjourned to 
his favorite restaurant, Solari's, in University Place, 
where for three hours he endeavored to persuade me to 
play the part. I was obdurate and would not listen to 
any of his suggestions. 

"Well," he said at parting, "Stoddard cannot and will 
not play the part and I have resolved to try a young 
man we have in our company, selected from the Stand- 
ard Theatre Company, where he was playing in a 
comic opera 'The Black Cloak.' He is now rehearsing 
the part of the ambassador in 'A Parisian Romance/ 



RICHARD MANSFIELD 69 

He shall play the Baron. He is intelligent, knows 
French and I am convinced that I can coach him into 
a success. " 

In four weeks from that time the young man who was 
taken from the ranks to play the Baron awoke to find 
himself famous. His name was Richard Mansfield. 
Philosophy, Thou Liest! 

One night several years ago at the Garrick Club in 
London, Joseph Knight and I were discussing the Ameri- 
can invasion of England by American artists. During 
the course of our conversation, Knight said : — 

"My ^dear Goodwin, we had an extraordinary chap 
over here from your country some years ago. I can't 
recall him by name, but he was a most uncomfortable 
person to meet and an awful actor! He endeavored to 
play Richard the III and gave an awful performance! 
He followed this with a play, written by Robert Louis 
Stevenson in which he scratched the carpet and was 
somebody else! He was a boss-eyed chap, spoke several 
languages and was remarkably adept at the piano. I 
can't for the life of me recall his name." 

From Knight's description I knew that he meant 
Mansfield and ventured to suggest that that might be 
the man to whom he referred. 

"Mansfield! Yes, that's the chap! Is he still going 
strong in America?" 

"Going strong!" I replied. "Why, he makes more 
money than all of us combined. He is called America's 
greatest player!" 

"Really!" exclaimed the illustrious Knight. "What an 
extraordinary country!" 

Mr. Knight unconsciously echoed my sentiments. 
We are an extraordinary people. 

Think — and be called a fool. 'Tis better to realize 
a fact than agree with the majority. 

Only a few weeks ago I was reading a biography of 



70 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

the late Mr. Mansfield, written by one of his managers; 
another, by a notorious critic; and, believe me, Ed- 
mund Kean's biographers were amateurs compared with 
Mansfield's in their shamelessly abject adulation of that 
" genius." The fulsome flattery of the senile, under- 
sized critic who pens his truckling screeds at so much 
a column (but never again in the paper from which he 
was dropped) and has been doing so to my certain 
knowledge for over thirty years, is but the vaporing of 
his infinitesimal soul. 

For years this critic held the position of reviewer on 
one of the leading New York daily papers and was the 
recipient of a stipulated salary from the late Augustin 
Daly. He was also on the payroll of many of the suc- 
cessful stars of America and the recipient of many 
bounties at their hands. Thirty years ago I was stand- 
ing in the lobby of the Tremont House in Boston talking 
with John McCuIIough, "the noblest Roman of them 
all," when this drunken critic, an "authority" on plays 
and players, reeled into our presence and in a thick 
voice asked John the number of his room. I shall never 
forget the look of disgust which McCuIIough bestowed 
upon this leech of the drama. As he shuffled to the 
elevator, mumbling incoherently, McCuIIough turned to 
Billy Conners, his manager, and in stentorian tones 
that could be heard a block away cried, "For God's 
sake, Billy how long am I be to annoyed by this 
drunken incubus?" 

Years after this same critic came to my opening per- 
formance of "The Merchant of Venice" at the Knicker- 
bocker Theatre, in New York, long after the curtain had 
been up. In fact my first scene was finished before he 
staggered down the center aisle to criticise my efforts. 
I knew that he contemplated treating me severely, 
irrespective of what I might be able to achieve. He 
did not consider it worthy of his attention and left 



RICHARD MANSFIELD 71 

before the play was finished. The following morning 
his "criticism" appeared, containing over two columns 
of vituperative abuse of my work, deservedly, no doubt; 
but as the paper went to press at eleven thirty and our 
performance was finished precisely at that hour I 
wondered how so beautifully a worded review could 
have been composed or even dictated in so short a 
time. The article was evidently inspired by an im- 
aginary production which he was privileged to witness 
before it was seen or heard. 

Yet this man's adulation of Mansfield, patently writ- 
ten at so much a line, will be handed down to posterity 
and be believed and respected by the multitude! Truly, 
"What fools these mortals be!" 

Mansfield, to me, was an enigma. Ask any worthy 
member of my profession to-day his opinion of Mans- 
field as an actor and he will, I am sure, agree with 
Joseph Knight. I am one of the few actors who made 
a study of Mr. Mansfield — for many reasons, the para- 
mount one being that I considered that I was indirectly 
responsible for his amazing and sensational success in 
"A Parisian Romance." 

I maintain that Mansfield was never a great actor, 
but a clever and gifted man — a dominant personality 
which asserted itself even when clothed in mediocrity. 

I ask any fair minded person if Mansfield ever moved 
him to tears, broke his throat and caused his heart to 
burst and sob his soul away, as did our beloved Booth. 
Did he ever cause a ripple of laughter to equal those 
ripples set running by delightful Willie Collier? Did he 
ever make you feel like bounding upon the stage and 
climbing up to Juliet's balcony, as one is prompted to 
do when witnessing E. H. Sothern pay tribute to Julia 
Marlowe? Did he ever make you start from your seat 
and thank God that the performance was over, as when 
listening to Edwin Booth's appeal to be allowed to enter 



72 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

the banquet hall where his daughter is being held pris- 
oner in "A FooPs Revenge"? Did he ever rivet you 
to the spot by pure, sweet, untheatric delivery of a 
speech without effort, as did Charles R. Thorne, in "The 
Banker's Daughter"? Did he ever hold you enthralled 
in a spell of reverence, as did Salvini or John McCuIIough 
in his address to the Senate in "Othello"? In a word 
did Mansfield ever make you really laugh or truly sob? 
Never? Then greatness was denied him. 

I argue that if an actor cannot appeal to you through 
the emotions he should take down his sign. If an actor 
cannot make you laugh or cry; fails to impress by any 
method except that of physical force or personality; 
cannot make love, he fails to qualify. Mansfield's 
attempts to storm or win any of these emotions were as 
futile as they were absurd and when he ventured within 
the realms of Shakespeare he was atrocious or pre- 
posterous. With all his unquestionable intelligence, he 
was never able to master Shakespeare's rhythm or to 
scan correctly, as those who have witnessed his Richard, 
Henry the Fifth, and Shylock, will remember. 

That is my opinion of his acting. 

What he did for the American stage is a far different 
proposition. There is no denying the fact that he was 
quite as successful in elevating the drama in America 
as Irving was in England, but he suffered by comparison, 
as Irving was superior in knowledge of stage craft. He 
was not the equal of Irving, either as actor or stage 
manager. True, he was denied Irving's authorities and 
the assistance of technicians who lightened Irving's 
efforts and materially added to his fame. Neither were 
Mansfield's methods, employed to further his ends, as 
legitimate as Irving's. Irving never found it necessary 
to insult his audience for its lack of patronage, or 
failure of appreciation. Dear benign Henry Irving de- 
voted as much time to beget a friend as Mansfield did 



RICHARD MANSFIELD 73 

to destroy one. Had Mansfield studied his characters 
with the same amount of reverence which he bestowed 
upon his productions and attention to " detail' ' I might 
have agreed with his biographers; but I conscientiously 
say that I cannot. The mistakes he perpetrated were 
often misconstrued into perfections of art. 

Mansfield, in my opinion, was an actor who selected 
the one art in which he was totally unfitted to shine and 
in which nature never intended him to soar. He did 
everything wrong, well. 

Personally, I liked Mansfield. He was most com- 
panionable, full of anecdotes, a fine musician, sculptor, 
linguist, conversationist and could be most agreeable, 
particularly to those whom he cared to interest. I had 
several delightful chats and very often dined with him 
in his private car and always came away wishing he 
could be persuaded to send over his charm into some 
of the plays of his extensive repertoire. But no, his 
channels were in the deep, dark waters of the uncanny. 

I have never left the playhouse, after witnessing one 
of his performances,^ with a sweet taste in my mouth 
or a wholesome thought. The trend of his characteriza- 
tions was towards the cruelty in mankind. He catered 
to the morbid. There was little sunshine in his plays. 
They were as a rule overcast with the clouds of misery, 
crime, and the "Winter of our discontent!" In the 
words of Joseph Knight, "How Awful!" Yet what a 
true disciple of Cazauran he proved to be! No one 
remembers a laugh provoker, while even third rate 
" serious' ' actors win posthumous praise! 

Mansfield was considered a great actor by the masses^ 
But do the masses know? No! You will hear them 
prate about his "detail." I do not agree with the 
masses and never have agreed with them. 

I do not enjoy a visit to the morgue. 

I consider Mansfield's detail, as a rule, misapplied. 



74 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

If sitting upon a great piece of scenery resembling an 
artichoke and stabbing himself with a huge Roman 
dagger without toppling over, as he did as Brutus, is 
detail, then I am wrong. When I saw him perform this 
piece of "business" I marvelled at the vitality of Brutus 
and the weight of his head for surgeons tell me that 
when one dies of a self-inflicted wound, particularly 
when administered by a cleaver, the head falls forward 
and naturally the body follows. Not so with Mr. 
Brutus as played by Mansfield! He appeared too busily 
engaged in counting the people in the gallery to allow 
any authority on self-inflicted wounds to interfere with 
his "detail." 

Again take the death scene in "A Parisian Romance." 
He is supposed to die from a stroke of apoplexy, not a 
stroke of lightning. Mansfield flopped over as if hit 
on the head with a club. The original, Germaine, who 
played the part in Paris, received his stroke like a 
gentleman, sank into his chair, was carried into an 
ante-room and calmly passed away, a white hand ap- 
pearing between the curtains as he endeavored to rejoin 
his disreputable friends. If one were privileged to read 
the original manuscript one would find that the Baron 
is supposed to faint as he has fainted many times before. 
The people carry him off and the party continues its 
revels until notified that its host has passed away in the 
adjacent room. Not so with Mansfield, catering to the 
masses, which enjoy "detail!" He got his stroke, 
dropped his glass upon the table, fell — tableau ! AH 
stand riveted. Someone cries, "The Baron is dead! 
Stop that music!" Curtain! 

The American people not only fancy "detail"; they 
also want "ginger" and "the punch"! No pousse cafe 
for them! They want "the straight goods" — and 
Mansfield certainly handed them over! 



Chapter XIII 
IN VARIETY 




[FTER my engagement with Robson at 
the Howard Athenaeum, which lasted 
for only a week, my mind was fully 
made up to adopt the stage as my voca- 
tion. I went to New York and secured 
a position as utility man at Niblo's 
Garden, under the management of Charles R. Thorne, 
Sr., and Edwin Eddy. But this lasted for only a few 
weeks, the season proving a failure. 

During the seasons of 1875 an d 1876 I found it diffi- 
cult to secure any employment whatever. The variety 
business, now called vaudeville, about this time had 
well-nigh supplanted the legitimate drama in the estima- 
tion of the masses and I, being rather an astute observer 
for a youngster, determined to turn my attention in 
that direction. The salaries offered were tempting and 
the opportunities of advertising one's ability much 
greater than in the legitimate. I persuaded my father 
to advance me enough money to have some costumes 
prepared and succeeded in inducing Bradford to prepare 
a sketch for me. It was called "His First Rehearsal," 
the receipt for which I take pleasure in submitting. You 
will see that sketches in those days cost small fortunes! 

I succeeded in procuring an opening at the Howard 
Athenaeum under the management of John Stetson. 
My associates appearing in the same programme were 
Gus Williams, Sol Smith Russell, Pat Rooney, Denman 
Thompson and several others who afterwards became 
famous players. I was handicapped to a great extent 

75 




76 




In the Little Rebel 

One oj my first excursions into the legitimate 



IN VARIETY 77 

by this competition and my success was not very flatter- 
ing until about the end of the week when I gained more 
confidence and my methods were a bit surer. .. On the 
Saturday night of my engagement Bradford brought a 
friend of his, Clay Greene, to see his protege. That 
evening, fortunately for me, my sketch went particu- 
larly well. Years after Mr. Greene wrote the following 
tribute : 

THE LEGEND OF NATHANIEL 
By Clay M. Greene 

"Come thou with me, tonight, and sit awhile, 

To see the mummers; not at the Museum: 
*Tis laughter's Tomb. The Park's a dull Te Deum; 

The Globe's a Morgue. Mayhap there be a smile 
That Iurketh somewhere in the dingy Athenaeum." 

Thus spake my friend, Joe Bradford: Rest his soul! 

I'd known him then a day, and we were chumming, 
As though we'd been for years Love's lute-strings thumbing. 

We'd told each other's lives; each ope'd his soul, 
And drank the other's health 'till riotous becoming. 

To his beloved Athenaeum, then, 

We almost reeled, and in a trice were seated, 

So close that we could scent the footlights heated. 
We laughed indeed, again, again, again, 

As clownish Mummers ancient songs and quips repeated. 

Then came into the light a slender boy, 

And Bradford yelled with lusty acclamation: 
"That's Nat, God bless him!" Then, without cessation, 

The stripling held each hearer like a toy, 
And thrilled him now with song, then wondrous imitation. 

First Farce, then Opera, now broad Burlesque, 

Then e'en in tragic realms magestic soaring, 
And each attempt success prodigious soaring; 

(Be it pathetic, tuneful, or grotesque,) 
Till every palm was bruised with ravenous encoring. 

The youth had scarce outgrown his spelling book, 
And yet tho* oft some honored name defaming, 

By matchless ridicule, his pure declaiming 
Came easily as ripples to a brook, 

Or thrills to lover's souls when latest sweethearts naming. 



78 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

"Who is this boy?" I cried. "He's clever, quite; 

Whence came he? Where began his gentle schooling? 
'Tis pity there's no art in such tomfooling, 

And much I fear this youth I've seen, tonight, 
Is but a clever clown! Alas! Such kindless ruling!" 

"Then thou'rt a weakling Judge to so decide!" 
Cried Joseph, redd'ning in his indignation. 

"A clown? No art? Why 'tis no imitation 
That we have heard; nor can it be denied 

This callow boy is that one genius of a nation!" 

"You smile; you purse your lips; and even doubt. 

E'er I have drunk myself into perdition, 
Nat Goodwin will have filled with inanition 

The fame of every actor hereabout: — 
For Nature gave him the Creator's tireless mission!" 

He reproduced no song, no speech, no jest, 
But it was Iustered by some hidden power 

That comes to Genius born with Fortune's dower. 
Youth in his veins, ambition in his breast, 

This boy will be one day the hero of his hour. 

More than a decade passed. Unlike to me, 
Joe lived not to fulfill that night's foretelling; 

Yet oft adown the years there comes a welling 
From that Somewhere, to green prophecy 

Which in my doubting soul that night usurped a dwelling. 

Today, I saw an eager, jostling throng, 
Like some greed-laden human panorama, 

Surround a playhouse door with vulgar clamour, 

To honor Bradford's star. "Seats! Seats!" their song:- 

To witness his, Nathaniel's, show of laurelled glamour. 

Oh, gentle friend of mine, thou art no more; 

But lend thy spirit ear while I am spinning 
My admiration's tale of endless winning 

Nat ever made. He never failed to score 
Since we together saw his modest first beginning. 

I hid thy prophecy within my breast, 

And ever and anon its force recalling, 
Watched Goodwin stride with speed that was appalling; 

Till now his very foes proclaim him best 
Amongst his votaries, thy very words forestalling. 

And I am glad to know, my spirit chum, 

That I long since let honest admiration 
Be leavened by a Friendship's adulation 

For him who in these decades hath become 
No artless clown, but that one genius of a nation. 



IN VARIETY 79 

Drink deep with us, thou gentle Friendship's wraith; — 
If thou hast aught to drink where thou'rt abiding, 

And Nat and I'll recall thy stalwart faith 

Which met my doubting with indignant chiding, 

That night when you a new star's orbit were deciding. 

"Come thou with me, tonight, and sit awhile, 

To see the Mummers (not at the Museum. 
'Tis laughter's tomb; the Park's a dull Te Deum; 

The Globe's no more): for I would see thee smile, 
While thousands laud the star of thy loved Athenaeum!" 

After my run at the Howard Athenaeum Tony Pastor 
offered me an engagement at $50 a week to appear at 
his Variety theatre in New York. When I arrived I 
was terror stricken at the way in which he had an- 
nounced me. I was advertised as "Actor, Author and 
Mimic/' I remained with Tony several weeks and 
when I left Gotham my salary had grown to the sum 
of $500 a week, a tremendous salary in those days. 

Variety was hardly to my liking as it gave me too 
much time to myself and I regret to say that I saved 
but little from my season's work. 

Colonel Sinn of the Olympic Theatre, New York, 
made me alluring offers to continue on the variety stage, 
but I decided to enter the legitimate and accepted an 
engagement to appear as Captain Crosstree under the 
management of Matt Morgan, then the manager of the 
14th Street Theatre in the burlesque of "Black-eyed 
Susan." It was there I met for the first time dainty 
little Minnie Palmer and we appeared together in two 
farces, "Sketches in India" and "The Little Rebel." 

After a few weeks at the Fourteenth Street house we 
accepted an engagement to return to the Howard Athe- 
naeum and we opened there at a joint salary of $750 a 
week. I was very proud of this, as I had previously 
left that theatre, not particularly successful, at a salary 
of only $15 a week. 




Chapter XIV 

ELIZA WEATHERSBY 

INNIE and I determined to remain 
together and continue in vaudeville 
through the following year and made 
our arrangements accordingly. But 
these were vetoed by her mother who 
decided that we had better earn our 
respective livings apart. 

The following summer (1876) I opened in the produc- 
tion of Rice and Goodwin's "Evangeline," words and 
lyrics by J. Cheever Goodwin, music by Edward E. 
Rice. I appeared in the character of Captain Dietrich. 
My associates in this production were William H. Crane, 
James Moffit, Harry Josephs, Veney Clancy, Lizzie 
Webster and Eliza Weathersby, one of the most famous 
beauties of the burlesque stage, who came to this 
country originally with Lydia Thompson. 

A friendship sprang up between Miss Weathersby 
and me. It quickly ripened into love and at the close 
of our season we were married by the Rev. M. Kennedy 
of New Rochelle, New York, on the 24th day of June, 

1877. . \ 

Eliza Weathersby proved a loving and lovable wife 
and was of great assistance to me in my profession, play- 
ing the principal female roles in all my plays with great 
success until she was forced to retire from the stage 
because of the illness which gradually brought about her 
death. 

80 




Eliza Weathersby 

The wife who mothered me 



ELIZA WEATHERSBY 8 1 

Eliza Weathersby was one of the most beautiful 
women whom I have ever known and one of the most 
self-sacrificing wives that ever blessed man with devotion 
and love. 

Forced by circumstances, she left a position at the 
Haymarket Theatre, London, where she was considered the 
best soubrette since Mrs. Keely, and came to America 
with the celebrated Lydia Thompson's famous troupe 
of British blondes. Her environment was most distaste- 
ful to her as the women with whom she was forced to 
associate were not to her liking. Lydia Thompson, 
herself, was a most exemplary woman and as virtuous 
as Eliza. She, too, was a very clever actress even before 
entering the field of burlesque and a friendship sprang 
up between them which lasted for many years. 

The reason for Eliza Weathersby's entry into the 
burlesque field was that the salary offered enabled her 
to support her widowed mother and five sisters who 
were left in want by the death of their father. She 
knew that no matter what her surroundings were she 
was proof against all temptations and her afterlife 
revealed how thoroughly she had diagnosed her char- 
acter and future. Every week after our marriage a 
certain sum was sent across the ocean, out of our joint 
salary, to the widow and orphans left in London and, 
one by one, each succeeding year a sister would come 
over and join our happy family. Emmy, the most 
beautiful, our favorite sister, was taken away from us 
two years after she arrived. Contracting a severe cold 
she died of pneumonia and we sorrowfully put her 
away in Woodlawn. She was a charming girl. And 
she gave promise of becoming a splendid actress. 

I was only a stripling when I married this beautiful 
creature. Moreover I was unreliable and, I confess, 
unappreciative of what the fates had been so kind as to 
bestow upon me. Many have accused me of "wanton 



82 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

neglect." I may have neglected her, but only for the 
companionship of men. She never complained and 
during the ten years of our happy married life there 
was never one discordant note. She was ten years my 
senior and treated me more like a son than a husband, 
but, like the truant boy who runs away from school 
now and then, I was always glad to return and seek 
the forgiveness that an indulgent mother always gives a 
wayward child. Our own home near Boston was a little 
paradise. I was seldom away from it and together we 
spent many, many happy hours, surrounded by our little 
sisters and my friends — who were always her friends. 
She was domesticated to a degree and never cared for 
the theatre. A loving sister, a dutiful daughter, a 
loving wife, she is resting in Woodlawn and the daisies 
grow over her grave. 

We remained with the " Evangeline' ' aggregation during 
the summer of 1876. This engagement was interrupted 
by my accepting another to appear at the Walnut Street 
Theatre in Philadelphia in conjunction with the famous 
John Brougham. This only lasted for two weeks when 
I rejoined Rice and continued with him until I was 
discharged for having a fistic encounter with the stage 
manager who was always making things particularly dis- 
agreeable for me. Eliza was offered an increase of salary 
to remain, but she preferred casting her lot with me. 

We packed up our parcels and went to New York in 
search of an engagement. I succeeded in procuring an 
opening with Harrigan and Hart at the Theatre Comique 
where I remained for several weeks. Tony Hart and I 
were always like Damon and Pythias. 

What a delightful character was Tony Hart! 

"His face was a thanksgiving for his past life and a 
love letter to all mankind." 

About 1872 a bright-eyed Irish- American lad named 
Anthony Cannon came over the theatrical horizon like 



ELIZA WEATHERSBY 83 

a burst of sunshine and it took but a few short years 
for him to establish himself in the hearts of the Ameri- 
can public. I met him about 1874, before I went on 
the stage, and a friendship sprang up between us that 
terminated only when he was laid to rest in the 
Worcester graveyard. 

Tony Hart was the name of the lad of melody, after 
he had fired the Cannon. From the time he became 
associated with Edward Harrigan until the name of 
Harrigan and Hart became famous from coast to coast, 
that boy caused more joy and sunshine by his delightful 
gifts than any artist of his time. To refer to him as 
talented was an insult. Genius was the only word that 
could be applied. He sang like a nightingale, danced 
like a fairy, and acted like a master comedian. No 
dialect was too difficult for him — Irish, Negro, Dutch, 
German, Italian became his own, and one lost sight of 
the individual in the truthfulness of portrayal. His 
magnetism was compelling, his personality charming. 
He had the face of an Irish Apollo. His eyes were 
liquid blue, almost feminine in their dove-like expres- 
sion. His head was large and round and covered with 
a luxurious growth of brown curly hair which clustered 
in ringlets over a strong brow. His feet and hands were 
small, his smile almost pathetic. His disposition turned 
December into May. This was the lad who sang, 
danced and acted himself into the hearts of America 
during the seventies and early eighties. 

Tony Hart was the friend of all mankind and my 
especial pal. 

I have loved three men in my life, and he was two of 
them. 

I miss him greatly, especially on the 25th of each 
July. We both were born on that day and during a 
period of twenty years we exchanged telegrams, letters 
or cables of loving friendship. 



84 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

He went away many years ago, but his memory will 
always linger with me. We laughed and sang together 
for twenty years and when they took him away to join 
the seraphs, nature discarded the mold that fashioned 
him. She could find no one worthy to fill it. When 
poor Tony left us the stage was seen through tears; 
an artist had gone to join the past masters; the world 
had lost a man and I, man's greatest treasure — a 
friend. 

After leaving Harrigan and Hart, Eliza and I made 
up our minds to go on our own. I knew my limitations 
and her reputation. She had previously made one or 
two journeys into stardom alone and I thought it would 
be a good idea to organize a company featuring her. 
I would be in her support. 

Our finances prohibited a production sufficiently 
elaborate for a burlesque organization so we determined 
to have a play written on the lines of The Vokes Family 
skits and Salsbury's Troubadors which were then play- 
ing successfully throughout the country, I interested a 
ne'er-do-well playwright named George Murray. We 
collaborated and brought out a little play called 
"Cruets" into which we injected all the little stunts in 
which we excelled (and all others that we could crib!). 
Thus we started out on our first starring tour, her name 
heading the company. 

We played through the New England circuit where 
we had previously appeared in "Evangeline." Our pro- 
ceeds the first week went away beyond our most irides- 
cent expectations. We cleared in the neighborhood of 
two thousand dollars profit. 

Out of the proceeds of our first week I paid a retainer 
to Benjamin Wolfe, a Boston journalist who had written 
" The Mighty Dollar" for W. J. Florence, to write us a 
play on the lines of the one we were then doing. Had 
I known what was in store for us I would not have 




In Hobbies with Eliza Weathersby 
The play I won at faro 



ELIZA WEATHERSBY 85 

indulged in such extravagance. For the next five 
months we never saw a house of more than two hundred 
dollars at any performance and in a little while the 
remainder of our $2,000 had almost vanished. I had 
paid Wolfe a thousand dollars down as a retainer on his 
agreeing to deliver the manuscript in five months. We 
had been travelling through New York, Ohio and Illinois 
to gradually decreasing business. We always left a 
favorable impression, so much so that John Albaugh who 
was then managing the leading theatre at Albany wired 
me for a return date. I accepted with avidity, as it 
meant a week's rest and a possible relief from bad 
business. 

Upon our arrival at Albany I received a telegram 
saying that Wolfe had sent his play, called "Hob- 
bies" C. O. D. A thousand dollars was needed to 
get the manuscript from the confines of the post- 
office. A thousand dollars to me then looked like a 
million ! 

Poor Eliza had saved enough from her earnings to 
enable her to put aside ten one thousand dollar govern- 
ment bonds. These I insisted she lock up in a safe 
deposit box the day after our marriage with instructions 
to tell no one of her hidden fortune nor ever to molest 
it unless we were starving. When the telegram arrived 
she insisted upon going down to New York and taking 
out one of the bonds with which to release our play. 
I would not give my consent and started out to try to 
borrow the money. I knew few people in Albany, but 
had two friends in Troy whom I thought I could rely 
upon to come to my rescue. One was a judge, the 
other a gambler. I found them both financially em- 
barrassed, but between them they dug up a hundred 
dollars which they presented to me. 

My gambler friend suggested that I take the hundred 
dollars, go upstairs into a faro game in which he held a 



86 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

slight interest and try to win out. I reasoned that the 
hundred was of no use to me and determined to take a 
chance. I went into the gambling room, and bet the 
hundred dollars on the high card. It won. I let it 
stay and it won again, giving me four hundred dollars. 
I asked for a chair then and sat down. 

In ten minutes I had eleven hundred and fifty dollars! 
I immediately returned the hundred dollar loan, bought 
Eliza a bunch of lilacs, her favorite flower, went to the 
post-office and returned home with the much coveted 
manuscript. 

I was ashamed to tell her how I " earned" the money, 
but I wouldn't tell her a falsehood and finally told her 
of my afternoon's experience. This worried her greatly 
as she never believed that any good results came from 
money obtained that way. I assuaged her grief and as 
usual was forgiven. We spent that night pondering 
over the manuscript and at the finish we both decided 
it was vastly inferior to our little play " Cruets." How- 
ever, we announced a production for Friday night. 
This gave us only five days of preparation. We thought 
so little of it that we never gave any attention as to 
what we should wear, arriving at no definite conclusion 
until the night of the performance. So little did we 
think of the play that I offered Charles Bowser, my 
leading comedian, a half interest in it for five hundred 
dollars and a cancellation of the three hundred and 
fifty dollars I owed him for back salary. 

"Natty," he said, "I haven't five hundred dollars and 
even if I had I wouldn't care to invest it in your prop- 
erty." How little did he know he was refusing a 
fortune ! 

When the curtain rang down on the finale of that 
play I would not have sold a half interest in it for 
fifty thousand dollars! It was a whirlwind of laughter 
from beginning to end. We were all dumbfounded and 



ELIZA WEATHERSBY 87 

could not understand why the play was received with 
such manifestations of delight. Everything was encored 
time and time again and the rafters shook with applause 
and laughter. The Saturday morning papers were most 
enthusiastic and in a few days I was beseiged with offers 
from all over the country. 

We performed this play successfully for four years, 
Eliza and I dividing a small fortune. Hers was put 
away in the safe deposit vault while most of mine went 
back into the coffers of the proprietors of various places 
of the same kind as that in which I won the original 
thousand dollars. 

I really never knew how much we did make out of 
that play until Eliza died and willed me her share. It 
came in very handy at the time and was gratifying for 
two reasons — it eliminated all my debts and was a 
vindication for me, in a way, as I considered it proof 
that (since she left me every dollar she possessed, with 
the exception of the ten thousand dollars in bonds 
which she had earned before our marriage) I had not 
treated her as cruelly as my vilifiers would have the 
world believe. 

We followed " Hobbies" with several other productions 
including "The Member for Slocum," "Sparks," "Our- 
selves," " The Ramblers " and one or two others. Then we 
associated ourselves with Edwin F. Thorne and produced 
a melodrama by Henry Pettit called "The Black Flag." 
I appeared as Sim Lazarus and Eliza as Ned the waif. 
We produced this play at the Union Square Theatre in 
September, 1882, and continued through that theatrical 
season with very gratifying success. 

Our association with Edwin Thorne was a delightful 
one. Though only a mediocre actor, he was a charming 
companion and his personality was most attractive. It 
was a funny experience to be associated with Thorne 
as it seemed but a few short months since Frank Bur- 



88 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

beck and I would sneak into Thome's bedroom at my 
mother's house, abscond with his sword and scabbard, 
adjourn to the back yard and indulge in a "duel" which 
we would continue until interrupted by the Thornes or 
other occupants of the dwelling. 






GOODWIN'S Frdlidues. 




N.C.Goodwin Jr^Hobbies 

Lithograph of Goodwin's Froliques 




Chapter XV 

SUCCESSFUL FAILURES 

ARADOXICALLY my most conspicuous 
failures, barring one or two, have been 
my greatest successes notwithstanding 
the reports which perhaps will be handed 
down to posterity. The best instance of 
this is my production of "The Merchant 
of Venice." The critics condemned it harshly; some 
before they saw it and more cruelly after. Maybe it 
was deserved. I say maybe because against those 
cowardly assaults I have the comforting knowledge that 
there were a few, including myself, who disagreed with 
those enlightened gentlemen. Among the minority I 
might mention Henry Watterson, Mr. Clapp of the 
Boston "Advertiser," William Ball, Stillson Hutchins, 
George Riddel, George P. Goodale of the Detroit "Free 
Press" and a few actors of intelligence. 

Many of the sapient censors of my work objected 
most strenuously to the disguising of my known methods 
and a loss of personality. I presume they would have 
preferred me to play Shylock as it was played by the 
predecessors of Macklin, but why should I copy "tradi- 
tion" before tradition was born? 

Nobody with human intelligence could ever discover 
humor in the dignified Shylock, a Jew, but, neverthe- 
less, the only gentleman in the play. Possessed of 
subtlety? Yes. Humor? No. a thousand times, no! 
Had the learned critics who assailed my efforts known 
anything regarding the motives that prompted Shake- 

89 



90 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

speare to adapt the play from a Spanish source, written 
only to please the vagaries of the Elizabethan court, 
they might not have marvelled at my efforts to dignify 
the character of Shylock. I would not venture to assert 
how easy was the rendering after I had absorbed the 
character nor would I even dare whisper what the 
performances throughout the country yielded. 

As a matter of fact history tells me that they were 
the largest returns, at the prices, of any series of per- 
formances ever given in America up to that time. 

The same results marked my production of "A Mid- 
summer Night's Dream" — which is written down as 
"another Goodwin failure." If more than five thousand 
dollars on the day (which were the receipts of the last 
Saturday at the New Amsterdam Theatre) spells failure, 
mine was unmitigated. 

The same story of successful failure may be told of 
my production of "Nathan Hale." It was greeted by 
packed houses and condemned by the press for my 
"audacity." It was audacious to play characters in 
serious plays. 

My performance of Nick Bottom in "A Midsummer 
Night's Dream" was supposed to be funny, but Shake- 
speare's name was on the front door and "knocking" 
was forbidden until the door was opened. Then how 
the iconoclasts did knock! They even found fault with 
the anatomy of the ass's head ! However, that is easily 
accounted for — one sees oneself reflected in a brook 
and an ass never looks down. 

Two failures I concede — "Beauty and the Barge" and 
"Wolfville." The former, a splendid play, was inade- 
quately cast. The other, a bad play, was perfectly cast. 
The net results — both hopeless. I knew that "Beauty 
and the Barge" was lost with all on board before I 
made my entrance. "Wolfville" was wiped off the map 
at the dress rehearsal. They met deserving ends but I 



SUCCESSFUL FAILURES 91 

honestly believe that "Beauty and the Barge" could be 
resuscitated and, properly cast, run the allotted span. 

So sanguine was I regarding the reception of those 
plays, barring "Wolfville," that I was fearful lest the 
critics would not be present. 

I regret to say that they were! 

They strangled my Shylock, crucified my Beauty, 
sank my Barge, burned my Wolfville, spanked my 
Bottom and relegated me to the sage brush of farce 
comedy, gaining their ends by withholding their praises 
— for business gradually decreased. Up to the period 
of my return to farce comedy I broke every record at 
the Knickerbocker Theatre with "Nathan Hale" — much 
to the discomfiture of "Willie" Winter and his satellites; 
and of course I was condemned by the critics who shine 
in the reflected light of that hypocritical, self-seeking 
Thersites. 

Shortly after I appeared in a farce called "The Genius" 
at the Bijou Theatre, New York, and never in my life 
have I been the recipient of such commendatory notices 
for my work. I was "absolutely perfect" from the 
critics' point of view. Even the Hebraic gentleman who 
writes for the New York "American" was courteous — 
aye, even complimentary, as was also the dainty critic 
of the " Evening Sun" — and receipts never reached $4,000 
during any given week! 

Truly a wonderful picture is that painted by Reynolds 
of Garrick between the Muses, Tragedy and Comedy. 
To which does he turn? 

I wonder! 

Which leads me to remark — 

Give the average American critic a mirror and a 
hammer and he will demonstrate his prowess as an 
iconoclast. 




Chapter XVI 

BACK IN THE EIGHTIES 

Y first trip to England resulted in my 
being able to add to my list of imitations 
a study of Sir Henry Irving. How it 
came about may be of interest. It 
followed my decision to produce "Con- 
fusion" and "Turned Up." 
"Confusion" had previously been played by Henry E. 
Dixey and Florence Gerard with some degree of success. 
I think they would have made a great success had they 
not made the play subservient to a most wonderful 
imitation of Henry Irving and Ellen Terry in a travesty 
on "The Merchant of Venice." They performed this 
travesty delightfully, but as it lasted only about thirty 
minutes and was the feature of the entertainment the 
piece de resistance naturally suffered. 

I saw the possibilities of "Confusion" and made a deal 
with John Stetson for a road tour. I gave it a most 
excellent cast, including such names as John Mason, 
Robert Coote, Loie Fuller, Charles Bishop, Leila Farrell 
and others who were conspicuous at that time. 

During this engagement I produced for the first time 
my burlesque of "The Bells," imitating Henry Irving as 
Mathias. It was a double bill and included "Turned 
Up." The performance made an instantaneous hit and I 
received much credit for what the press and public were 
pleased to call a most faithful reproduction of the great 
man. I was extremely nervous on the first night as I 
was following a magnificent imitation of Irving lately 

92 




In Turned Up 

In the days ivhen I ivas an imitator 



BACK IN THE EIGHTIES 93 

given in the same theatre by Henry E. Dixey who had 
scored a tremendous success. He had a striking make 
up for his Irving, suggesting him in face and carriage, 
but his reproduction was more of a caricature than mine 
and I suffered little by comparison. 

Later on, while producing "The Bells" in conjunction 
with "Confusion" at the Grand Opera House, one of the 
company whispered, "Irving's in the box!" I nearly 
fainted. However, I had only a few moments more in 
which to finish the performance so I gritted my teeth 
and went to it. 

Irving visited me later on in my dressing-room and 
grasping me by the hand ejaculated, "My dear Good- 
win, I congratulate you! I had no idea that 'The 
Bells' was such an interesting play!" 

"My dear Irving," I said, "think of the man you 
saw play it!" 

"Having played the part for over twenty years and 
having seen your wonderful reproduction of me, I can 
now see where I have been very much in error," he 
replied laughingly. 

Some years after at a supper given in my honor he 
referred to my performance very graciously, pronouncing 
it the only true burlesque he had ever witnessed, with 
the possible exception of one by Frederick Robson, 
called The Great Robson. Robson was a wonderful 
player of the early sixties. 

I followed "Confusion" with "Turned Up," preceding 
each play with "Lend Me Five Shillings" and an adap- 
tion from the French of a play called "Gringoire." I was 
enabled to show a good profit on the correct side of the 
ledger for the following two years. 

On my next trip to Europe I succeeded in interesting 
William Yardley to write for me. With Leander Rich- 
ardson he adapted a play from the French which was 
produced successfully in London by Charles Wyndham 



94 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

and called "The Candidate." I returned to America 
that year with their adaption, calling it "The Nominee." 
I afterwards produced it for a limited run at the Bijou 
Theatre, New York. 

Previously I had made several plunges into musical 
comedy and comic opera, producing with Edward E. 
Rice at the Boston Museum "Cinderella at School," 
"The Mascot" and "Pinafore." Those productions were 
given in a spirit of fun and as a relief from the more 
serious work which occupied my road tours. Irrespective 
of the profits which were made by these plunges into 
dissipation we always had a royal time. 

It was here that I again resumed my delightful asso- 
ciations with dear old Ned Rice. What a misunder- 
stood person is this happy-go-lucky ne'er-do-well who 
would spend his last twenty dollar bill to give a dinner 
to a pal ! The sordid, practical manager of to-day would 
do well to emulate this self-sacrificing gentleman. 
Salaries meant nothing to him if he considered the actor 
necessary to enhance the artistic value of any of his 
magnificent productions. So thoughtful of his women 
and appreciative of his men was he as to make it a joy 
to be associated with him in the management of the 
classic Boston Museum. I was always fond of the comic 
opera style of entertainment and to be associated with 
Rice added greatly to my pleasure. 

The extreme gratification of being for a time the lessee 
of a playhouse in which I had previously been conspicu- 
ous only as a spear carrier was joy indeed. To tear 
down the walls of respectability and storm the citadel of 
the legitimate; to make the sacred place a playground 
were dissipations which I enjoyed immensely. To sur- 
round myself with both principals and chorus after the 
matinee, have dinner served from the Parker House 
(and be able to liquidate from the profits of that mati- 
nee) in the greenroom, where the people were allowed 



BACK IN THE EIGHTIES 95 

to talk to one another without being subject to a fine 
for their audacity ; to have the exquisite power of bring- 
ing viands behind the scenes without fear of challenge 
or interruption; with the satisfaction of knowing that 
only we knew what was going on behind the scenes of 
this revered old playhouse — these were joys indeed ! 

It was very wrong, no doubt, but nevertheless a 
beatific revenge for the cuffs I had received in years 
gone by. Maybe it was only a mistake. Perhaps I 
should not have indulged in these sprees, but the engage- 
ment was in the summer, we paid large salaries, the 
theatre was packed at every performance, the dignified 
and austere management shut their eyes to our moods 
and tenses and, really, after all, it was but a little holi- 
day and John Mason, Joseph Haworth, William J. 
LeMoyne, Fred Archer, Barney Nolan, my dear brother 
Edward, Sadie Martinot, Catherine Lewis, Belle Archer, 
Rice and I enjoyed the outing, or inning, immensely! 




Chapter XVII 

THE HALCYON DAYS OF UNION SQUARE 

HE early eighties were replete with much 
excitement and lucrative receipts. From 
'82 to '90 I made productions annually 
and nearly all, I am pleased to say, were 
successful. A half dozen worth nam- 
f — Tt ing were "Sparks," "A Gay Deceiver, ,, 

"Col. Tom Bottom's Dream," "A Royal Revenge," "The 
Skating Rink" and "A Terrible Time." During these 
eight years I made many friends and always looked 
forward to the summer with much pleasure. The two 
months devoted to booking my tour for the coming 
season always afforded me unbounded joy. 

What would I not give to swing back into time and 
have one brief yesterday; to stroll down Broadway and 
grasp the hands of long ago; to drop in at the old 
Hoffman House, stroll to the bar and be greeted by 
John McCuIIough, by Ned Buckley (he of the angelic 
voice and fist of a gladiator), by Johnny Mackie, the 
lovable cynic, Jim Collier, the uncle of our magnetic 
Willie, and Sam Piercy, of stentorian tones (who died 
ere he blossomed)! 

What would I not give to continue down Broadway 
to Fourteenth Street; to stop and talk with the austere, 
but charming Barney Macauley; to be joined by Charlie 
Read, the delightful minstrel; the tall and well-groomed 
Charles R. Thome, Jr., and his equally attractive 
brother, Ned, the handsome Fred Bryton, the scholarly 
Charles Coghlan, the fascinating Harry J. Montague, 

96 



THE HALCYON DAYS OF UNION SQUARE 97 

clever George Knight, Billy Barry, Sol Smith Russell, 
James Lewis and John Drew! These gentlemen con- 
stituted America's "lowest and lightest," as I referred 
to them one spring morning as we exchanged salutations. 

Anon come John Gilbert and the aggressive little John 
T. Raymond and, as you continue down, the distin- 
guished members of Wallaces and the Union Square 
nod kindly recognition. Then you return on a journey 
to the St. James Hotel to be met graciously by its 
popular proprietor, Billy Conners, fascinating Henry 
Perry, the wit of Broadway, and divers other men about 
town, including "Plunger" Walton and the well-groomed 
John Daly. John Daly, the gambler? Yes, but only 
in the truest meaning of the word — not a corner lounger 
with dyed mustache, leering at the women as they 
passed, but a true gambler in every sense, of a type 
now extinct. 

Those men were all "pals," men of the hour. Where 
they foregathered a perpetual loving cup was in evidence. 

After passing the usual greetings one would take a 
stroll uptown as far as Thirty-fourth Street. That was 
as high as the afternoon professional pedestrian cared to 
ramble. If one were as favored as I was in those happy 
days one would be sure to be greeted by such beautiful 
and attractive women as Lillian Grubb, Marie Jansen, 
Kate Forsythe, Pauline Hall, Josie Hall and dainty 
MoIIie Fuller, her chum, the Hanley sisters, the attrac- 
tive Lillian Russell (almost as beautiful and radiant as 
now!), Marie Tempest, clever Minnie Maddern, the 
daughter of Tom Davey, now the talented Mrs. Fiske, 
the haughty Rose Eytinge, Ada Dyas and the regal 
Ada Rehan. 

The brain grows giddy as my fancy wanders back to 
those beautiful autumnal days of twenty odd years ago 
when all was chaotic and congested, but nevertheless a 
delightful pot pourri of brilliancy, genius, talent and 



98 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

beauty. Some, in fact a majority, have passed away, 
but to those who were privileged to enjoy the happy 
association of those clever men and women a memory 
remains that will only be obliterated when the bell that 
summoned King Duncan to his doom tells us that the 
time has come for us to join those gone before. 

Shall we join them? 

I wonder! 

Life is a bridge of sighs, over which memory glides 
into a torrent of tears. 

It was somewhere in the early eighties that I first 
heard of the existence of the Lambs Club, situated at 
that time somewhere near Union Square and suggested 
to me as a good one to join by Harry Becket, then the 
leading comedian of Wallack's Theatre. It was during 
those busy times when all of us were compelled to 
travel for the season of the then thirty-two weeks that 
we looked forward with greatest joy to meeting our pals 
on the glorious Rialto. It was bounded by Broadway 
and Fourth Avenue, Fourteenth and Seventeenth Streets 
with the attractive Union Square Park forming the 
center of rest. It was our busy playground after our 
toils of the road. 

I always put up at the Union Square Hotel where, 
after a hurried bath and shave, I would rush down to 
the street below to be welcomed by my many friends. 
Ah! What times they were! I brush away a tear as 
the happy memories come upon my vision. I see the 
tall, commanding figure of Charlie Thorne come briskly 
across the pavement, switching his well-shaped limbs 
with a tiny cane as he rushes over with out-stretched 
hands to bid me welcome and congratulate me upon my 
season's efforts. A slap on the back from clever Louis 
Harrison and an embrace — yes, even in the open! — 
from his talented sister Alice; a yell from dear old 
Matt Snyder, many times a member of my various 




LOTTA 

In the days when work was play 



THE HALCYON DAYS OF UNION SQUARE 99 

organizations, a grunt of welcome from the stoic, Sheri- 
dan Shook and an acknowledgment from the dignified 
Lawrence Barrett; a benign smile from Edwin Booth, 
salutations from the various members of my company, 
now disbanded, but only for a time! We generally kept 
our organizations intact for many seasons in those 
happy, golden yesterdays. 

Often the ladies of our profession would wander down- 
town to meet their brothers and here and there one 
would come across a group of men and women in con- 
verse under the shady trees, comparing notes and mak- 
ing their arrangements for the following year. Dainty 
Kate Claxton, then the heroine of "The Two Orphans/' 
would be seen in earnest conversation with A. M. 
Palmer in front of the Union Square Theatre. Maggie 
Mitchell would briskly acknowledge the respectful 
doffing of hats as she tripped across from the Morton 
House with sprightly Lotta as her one bright particular 
companion of that morning. Midway between the 
Morton House and the Union Square the fascinating 
Joe Emmett would chirp merrily on his way and hold 
those ladies enthralled until some other came along to 
interrupt their entertaining conversation. 

In those days, no arbitrary booking organization held 
sway; no peeping Izzies or Sols had access to our books; 
we were all on our own, masters of our own enter- 
prises. Like the brokers on the curb we arranged our 
bookings on the street. Hither and hither we flew, now 
procuring a week in Pittsburgh or a night in Dayton, 
crossing and recrossing from the Morton House to 
Union Square, corralling a manager for a two weeks' 
tour in the sunny South or four in the unattractive 
middle West, ever and anon stopping on our way to 
engage the services of some particular actor we desired 
for the new play. We made railroad rates with hustling 
agents, always on the lookout to do business with pro- 



100 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

fessionals. There was no Interstate Commerce law in 
force at that time! 

We made contracts with printers and appointments 
with authors simultaneously! 

Thus the day was occupied from ten until three when 
all work was suspended. Then, though a bit fatigued, 
we would make a hasty recapitulation of what had been 
accomplished, select our own particular coterie of 
friends and adjourn to Charlie Collins' (known as 
"Dollar Five" Charlie) cafe where the balance of the 
day was devoted to food, drink, anecdote and song. 

Managers, agents, printers, railroad agents, actors, 
singers (of obscurity and fame) — all were as one when 
the bell struck three. Perfect equality, unanimity, 
brotherly love and comradeship were the qualities in 
vogue on the Rialto in dear old New York during the 
early eighties. At that time I made the remark, 
"When you leave New York you're camping out." 

I have been camping out since 1900. 




Chapter XVIII 

THE BIRTH OF THE SYNDICATE 

jHOSE were halcyon days on Union 
Square. The booking of tours was as 
attractive as it was uncertain, attrac- 
tive because it was uncertain! Who 
does not find a hazardous game at- 
tractive? 

One man Fve not mentioned was in daily evidence on 
the Square. He was fair, always faultlessly dressed, in 
frock coat, soft black felt hat, low cut waistcoat (show- 
ing an abundance of pleated shirt front, ornamented in 
the center with a single, glittering, pure white diamond), 
peg top trousers tapering down to a pair of dainty feet 
encased in the latest Parisian patent leather boots. He 
was straight of figure and easy of carriage and affected 
a drooping mustache. Also he bowed pleasantly to 
everyone he met! 

In make up he suggested the type of man drawn by 
Bret Harte in the " Outcasts of Poker Flat " — John 
Oakhurst, gambler. 

Such was Jack Haverly, the originator of the scheme 
of forming a theatrical trust or, as it is now called, a 
syndicate. 

The idea must have worked its way into the brain of 
a little, rotund, breezy chap who always accompanied 
the genial Haverly. He was ever at his side, taking 
notes, penciled and mental, running to the telegraph 
offices with instructions from his master, always return- 
ing for more, his little furtive eyes constantly wandering 
from one point to another, calling his master's attention 

IOI 



102 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

to matters of detail too complicated for the busy Hav- 
erly sometimes to consider. The little lieutenant never 
overlooked anything. Like a trusty sentinel was this 
little aide upon whom the mantle of the master was 
soon to fall. 

Haverly neglected the business which formed the 
nucleus of his success and sought bigger and more allur- 
ing schemes only to encounter failure. He speculated 
in mines which soon brought about his ruin and he died, 
penniless and neglected, leaving only the legacy of an 
idea. But the little corporal who took advantage of the 
suggestions absorbed from Haverly soon arose from an 
obscurity as dense as that of his Corsican predecessor 
and Charles Frohman jumped over the horizon and in 
a short period amazed the theatrical world. 

It was in the fall of 1878 that I chanced into Haverly's 
office in the Fifth Avenue Theatre building on a matter 
of business regarding my first trip to the Coast. In 
his employ at that time were Gustave, Daniel and 
Charles Frohman and AI Hayman. They were the 
representative staff, and Haverly, from out the quar- 
tette, selected Gustave as his chief, considering him the 
most brilliant of them all! Daniel, the present lessee 
of the Lyceum Theatre, confined himself to conservative 
lines and was quite satisfied to manage a first class stock 
company and one or two minor attractions. Charles 
was the Atlas destined to uphold the family name and 
make dramatic history. 

While planning the scheme that has since made many 
men millionaires Haverly little dreamed that his rotund 
employee was also eagerly planning as he unfolded his 
plans to the others. 

(If anyone doubts that Haverly was the first man 
who first thought of a theatrical trust, he need only 
refer to an old lithograph showing this astute gentleman 
on an elevation and in his hands various wires, to the 




Jack Haverly 

The man who conceived the syndicate 



THE BIRTH OF THE SYNDICATE 103 

ends of which are attached ten theatres. Haverly 
controlled these houses and about six attractions. 
There he stands, smiling and manipulating the wires. 
This was the birth of the syndicate.) 

In a few years Charles blossomed forth as a manager. 
I think his first winner was " Shenandoah/ ' written by 
Bronson Howard. The world knows of his rapid ascent, 
so I won't dwell upon his wonderful and well deserved 
success. I write of the man as I know him and Charles 
Frohman is a man among men. Yet he is seldom seen 
among men! Only a few are privileged to enjoy his 
magnetic society. I have been one of these. I have 
met him in my own home, in England, in my dressing- 
room, at his office, on the stage, when he and I were 
producing plays, at dinners, supper parties — in fact 
under every circumstance and in all walks of life. And 
he is always the same urbane, kindly, patient creature. 
He laughs at failures and runs from success — runs, but 
only in quest of another! He is one of the most scin- 
tillating persons in the world. Geographical space 
means nothing to him. His word is a contract. I 
have never known such perseverance, industry and 
thought combined in one man. 

I am one of the few who knew what he was up against 
when he began his American invasion of England. A 
conversation held in my presence in my home at Jack- 
wood, England, between three men who have since been 
associated with him advised me of a conspiracy to ruin 
him. But Frohman overcame them all, beat them at 
their own game and his methods have been imitated 
broadcast throughout the British Empire. The little 
corporal has made himself a factor in London and his 
name as a rule spells success. 

He has brought before the American public the most 
celebrated players of the day, made so only by his 
undying energy and patience. I have often regretted 



104 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

that even after I had begun my career I had not started 
under his management, for notwithstanding his great 
business capabilities he has a naturally artistic tempera- 
ment, combined with a wondrous sense of humor — 
splendid qualities in these days of commercialism. 

One time, nearly twenty-three years ago, I sent for 
him to come to my residence on West End Avenue, 
New York, with a view of placing myself under his 
management. He listened very quietly as is his custom 
and when I had finished asked how remunerative the 
season I had just closed had been. I showed him my 
books thinking that disclosure might lead to results. 
After examining them most carefully he placed them 
gently upon the table and with that merry twinkle in 
his eyes his friends know so well said, 

"My dear boy, you don't require a manager; you 
want a lawyer.' ' 

Later I played under his management in London and 
I am happy to say I caused him no loss. The engage- 
ment was a most happy one and I look back to the 
association with joy. 

During my several engagements at his Knickerbocker 
Theatre he was seldom in evidence. The first night he 
would take his customary seat in the rear of the balcony 
and at the end of the play a slight knock would come at 
my dressing-room door. "Come in," I would say. The 
door would open and his bright, cheery face appear. 
"It's all right," would be the assurance and he would 
disappear as quickly as he came. 

During the run of "Nathan Hale" I had not seen him 
for four or five weeks. One night I came into the 
dressing-room, turned on the electric light and there he 
sat in a corner, all huddled up. "What in the world 
are you doing there, Charley?" I asked. He quietly 
replied, "I am casting a new play and came here to get 
some inspiration. Good night." and away he went. 



THE BIRTH OF THE SYNDICATE 105 

My next association with him was in the production 
of "Beauty and the Barge" at the Lyceum Theatre. I 
often regretted that I had not listened to his suggestions 
and gone on the road with the play, but the sting of 
defeat was too bitter and in a hysterical moment I 
decided to abandon it. 

s 

He offered no advice, but, as usual, when his stars 
are unhappy in their roles, he left me to determine the 
fate of the play. 

Charles Frohman is the most unselfish man whom I 
have ever met in the theatrical profession. A spend- 
thrift, so far as productions are concerned, with no 
thought of pecuniary results, no sordid desires, a slave 
to his work, and with a thorough appreciation of an 
artist's value, he has done more to increase actors' 
salaries, he has produced more plays and received less 
reward than any manager in the world. The history of 
the American stage will be incomplete unless the name 
of Charles Frohman stands conspicuous among the 
many. 

Will history do the little corporal justice? 

I wonder! 

About the time that the idea of Haverly's began 
scintillating along the horizon it became noised about 
that a theatrical syndicate was to be formed — to make 
the booking of tours less irksome; to guarantee con- 
tinued time in the cities; to amalgamate forces which 
would lessen the burden of the actor-manager — in fact 
everything would be done to enhance the success of 
both player and producer. 

The Napoleonic Erlanger was the instigator and 
promoter of the finally adopted scheme and he was aided 
by the subtle Klaw, whom I had previously known in 
Louisville as a reporter — a silent, but ever watchful 
person. Associated with these clever gentlemen were 
the elusive AI Hayman, then a wealthy and powerful 



io6" NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

man; Rich and Harris, of Boston and Nixon and 
Zimmerman, of Philadelphia. This sextette made a 
very powerful organization. 

Being possessed of a little business instinct I saw the 
danger, or rather the supposed danger, that lurked 
behind these Samaritans of the drama, but not until I 
was approached by Mr. Rapley of Washington, Charlie 
Ford of Baltimore and one or two suburban managers 
did I realize what was in the power of this coterie if they 
succeeded in carrying out their schemes. Those man- 
agers realized their peril and were quietly soliciting the 
stars not to play at any other theatres save theirs, as 
they feared the Syndicate would book the then strong 
attractions at opposition houses, offering as an induce- 
ment better terms and time. Being loyal, as I have 
always tried to be, I assured them that I would stick. 
Then it occurred to me that if I could organize a syndi- 
cate of players we might be able to strangle the con- 
templated move at its very birth. 

I succeeded in interesting Joseph Jefferson, William 
H. Crane, Stuart Robson, Sol Smith Russell, Richard 
Mansfield, Fanny Davenport, Francis Wilson, Modjeska, 
J. K. Emmet and four or five other leading players — 
and they all promised to stand by me. We were to 
elect A. M. Palmer president. I was to be the vice- 
president. We were all to form an incorporated com- 
pany and play as one body. I even went so far as to 
have the papers drawn up. I worked incessantly night 
and day. I even had sites picked out and money 
guaranteed for theatres in Boston, New York, Chicago, 
Cleveland and St. Louis, providing I could guarantee 
the appearance of these players for five years. 

Everything was going better than I anticipated when 
one day I received my first shock. The "dear old 
Dean," Mr. Jefferson, had reneged! He went back on 
every promise made to me in New Orleans. Crane, 



THE BIRTH OF THE SYNDICATE 107 

after being my guest for a week in Baltimore, going 
over every detail and agreeing that it was "a great 
scheme," quietly and unknown to me signed a three- 
years' contract with Joseph Brooks, a representative of 
the Syndicate. One by one they all left me, with the 
single exception of Francis Wilson, who had to stay, 
as he had been blacklisted by Nixon and Zimmerman 
with whom he had quarreled. 

I was disgusted and quietly folded my tent and de- 
parted for Europe to ponder over the ass I had made of 
myself and to wonder what the Syndicate would do to 
me by way of a punishment I so richly deserved. 

Imagine my surprise when Abe Erlanger called me 
into his office one morning after my return from Europe 
and after greeting me most cordially said, "Well, my 
boy, you didn't pull that thing off." I answered, "No, 
but I tried hard, Abe, I can tell you." He said, "I 
know you did. Some of your companions have lied to 
me, and they will get their's, but you have told me the 
truth and the Syndicate will always be your friend; at 
least I'll be. Your terms will always be the same, no 
matter what you have to offer, your tours booked and 
all your business done through this office without 
charge." 

The Syndicate has kept faith with me, with but one 
exception. Only one man out of the eight has broken 
faith with me. They are all, barring this particular 
one, my personal friends. 

I would rather have Abe Erlanger's word than a 
contract from Rockefeller. 

After all, what a silly fight I contemplated making 
and what a blessing it turned out that I did not con- 
summate it. The theatrical syndicate has in fifteen 
years made more actors and managers rich, improved 
the drama to a greater extent, built more theatres and 
increased patronage more consistently than has been 



108 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

accomplished by any other factor during the last 
century. 

* The only fault that I have to find with the Syndicate 
is that through its dignified and thorough business-like 
methods it has made the theatrical profession so alluring 
that unreliable imitations have broken through the 
windows of the drama and allowed the draughts of un- 
savory methods to permeate the stage. 

Other so-called syndicates have sprung up and 
nauseated the thinking public with vulgar and obscene 
plays which, I am sorry to admit, some seem to fancy. 

But everything will adjust itself in time and the 
theatrical syndicate, headed by the brainy Erlanger, 
will destroy all enemies of the drama. Honest plays 
and playwrights will receive their just dues, wholesome 
plays will be in vogue, and the names of Klaw and 
Erlanger will be synonyms for Honesty and Justice. 




Chapter XIX 

STARS 

O be a star to-day an actor needs only to 
be featured in large type in all advertis- 
ing matter. At least this is all that is 
necessary to win popular acceptance as 
a star. That such undeserved, mis- 
applied, wrongful foistering of mediocre 
actors on a long suffering public is unwise is self-evident. 
The antagonism it provoked among authors and man- 
agers is quite justified. 

AH true artists object to the featuring of incom- 
petency fostered by notoriety. The men and women of 
the stage who entered the profession through the small 
door and not the open broad window protest with much 
vehemence against the launching of a so-called "star" 
who, because of some act of violence, the singing of a 
rotten song with an attractive melody, a beautiful face, 
a German accent, becomes born over night. But the 
managers who are now objecting to this kind of starring 
system are the very ones who inaugurated the iniquity. 
I maintain that when a man or woman has attained 
a position on the stage through honest endeavor, mental 
application, strict attention, conscientious study and 
practical experience, he should be rewarded and recom- 
pensed. And these gains should be conspicuous and 
financially worth while. 

Among many of the so-called producers of to-day there 
seems a prevailing tendency to decry and belittle the 
starring system. This is all very well from their point 

109 



HO NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

of view. If they succeed in making the star subservient 
to the author and to those who "present," they will add 
more to their respective coffers by confiscating the 
financial share of those men and women who have in 
the past made them rich. 

They base their theories (that stars do not make 
successes) on the fact of the success of such plays as 
"The Lion and the Mouse," "Bought and Paid For," 
"The Heir to the Hoorah," "Seven Days," "Paid in 
Full" and a half dozen more. With the possible ex- 
ception of "Bought and Paid For" most all of these 
so-called starless plays were accidental successes. 

"The Lion and the Mouse" was turned down by sev- 
eral stars and as many managers and I consider rightly 
so. When the stars refused to accept it, the managers 
followed suit. Ethically, and in spite of its remarkably 
successful financial success, I consider it a most im-, 
probable play. I refused to play the leading part in 
London, predicting its failure. London can distinguish 
between a good and bad play. "The Lion and the 
Mouse" was a failure in London. 

There are some plays in which the characters are so 
equal that it is unwise to feature any particular one, as 
the public expects too much from the one conspicuous 
in the billing and being disappointed — dislikes the 
play. Not only the play suffers but, when the unlooked 
for happens and some unknown person suddenly makes 
a hit in a play in which a star is featured, the star 
naturally suffers. The public never differentiates. 

When "The Heir to the Hoorah" was submitted to me 
I told Paul Armstrong, the author, that it would be 
unwise to star any one in his plays and he took my 
advice. "Bought and Paid For" was written for a star, 
but the author unwittingly wrote another part that 
proved more acceptable to the public than the character 
he originally intended should be featured. The play 



STARS 1 1 1 

was eventually produced without a star and proved a 
success. Perhaps had a different star been selected. at 
the beginning there would have been a different story 
told. In spite of the success of "Bought and Paid For" 
in New York, "Baby Mine" played a week in' Los An- 
geles (with Marguerite Clarke featured) to more than two 
thousand dollars more than "Bought and Paid For." 

The manuscript of "Paid in Full" kept the author 
warm for many nights as he slumbered on the benches 
of the parks in New York. And the stars refused to 
comfort him. "Paid in Full" was an accidental hit, but 
it created a star — TuIIy Marshall. 

Clyde Fitch read "The Climbers" to me many years 
before Henry Harris decided to produce it. Almost 
every manager in New York had turned it down. The 
excellent acting of that play saved it. From the cast 
sprang such stars as Robert Edeson, Clara Bloodgood, 
Amelia Bingham and Minnie Dupree. 

The average author and manager of to-day are prone to 
advertise themselves as conspicuously as the play (as if 
the public cared a snap who wrote the play or who "pre- 
sents" !). I doubt if five per cent of the public know who 
wrote "The Second Mrs. Tanqueray," "In Mizzoura" or 
"Richelieu," but they know their stage favorites. 

I wonder how many mantels are adorned with pictures 
of the successful dramatist and those who "present" 
and how many there are on which appear Maude Adams, 
Dave Warfield, Billie Burke, John Drew, Bernhardt, 
Duse and hundreds of other distinguished players. 

No matter how hard you may strive to strangle the 
successful star player, Messrs. Author and Manager, you 
won't succeed. You may succeed in fostering a few more 
plays without a star but the clouds will surely come and, 
when they disburse, the accidents that caused them 
will give way before intelligence. The stars will twinkle 
again more resplendent than ever and light you once 



112 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

more to the road that leads to permanent success. You 
may trade and barter but you will finally be made to 
understand that ours is a profession in which sentiment 
plays a most important part and when you insist on 
robbing the public of its favorite player, the disappoint- 
ment will be as bitter as when the little boy is told 
there is no such thing as Santa Claus. 

Now I'll take the commercial side of the question. 
1*11 venture the opinion that Dave Warfield and Maude 
Adams play each season to double the receipts any play 
without a star ever earned. The Cincinnati Festival, 
composed only of stars, in one week played to more 
than one hundred thousand dollars. Booth and Barrett 
cleared over six hundred thousand dollars net in one 
season. Henry Irving took away from America in one 
season three hundred thousand, Bernhardt averages a 
quarter of a million net on every farewell tour. The 
average successful star up to five years ago (before the 
influx of the so-called producers, the authors who 
feature themselves and those who "present") counted 
it a bad year if his profits failed to reach a hundred 
thousand dollars. 

I wonder how much Charles Frohman has made with 
his stars! 

And now let us face a fact that is indisputable — 
business is very bad. 

Ten years ago a ten thousand dollar week was con- 
sidered only a good one. To-day it is an event. Even 
poor little I played to over fifteen thousand and no fuss 
was made about it. Let me hear the name of a single 
successful play without a star of to-day that averages 
eight thousand per week. 

I wonder if people go to see clever George Cohan or 
George Cohan's play? 

I consider it an insult and audacity for any manager 
to assert that the starring system is a menace to the 




In the Gold Mine 

My get-up in The Gold Mine 



STARS 113 

theatre when almost every leading theatre of Europe 
heads the cast with the name of a conspicuous player. 
Every first-class theatre in London for the last fifty 
years, from Kean to Irving, has owed its success to one 
bright particular star. 

If any manager in America would like to try the 
experiment I would be willing to make a wager that I 
will take the most successful stock play now running in 
any city in the world, go to any town or city in America 
and with a star double, yes treble the receipts of the 
stock organization presenting the same play. 

Again let me ask the author and those who ''present" 
as to the longevity of a stock play as compared with 
that of the play in which a star appears. Also how 
about the returns from a revival of both? In the all 
star revival of "The Rivals" we averaged five thousand 
dollars a performance. 

Did the public go to see the players or the play? 

I wonder. 

How many knew the author or Joseph Brooks who 
presented us? 

I wonder! 

Again let me ask the great author and those who 
" present,' ' those commercial gentlemen who seek to 
crucify the star, what inducement they offer the young 
beginner in the way of a future. Are all the budding 
geniuses to be strangled at their birth, their dreams to 
be made delusions? Are they to have no chance to 
gratify their ambitions, only the remote possibility of 
being one of an ensemble? You are trying to rob the 
public of its favorite player, to destroy all individuality, 
to make us a melting-pot, a cesspool of ensemble, sub- 
ject to your will and dictation. It is a pretty tall order, 
my friends, and be careful lest you who would destroy 
be not destroyed. 

If the stars are forbidden to shine it is their own 



114 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

fault. If only twenty would band themselves together 
(and it can be done) I'd guarantee to finance the scheme 
with half a million dollars. If they would form a 
syndicate, I would guarantee to drive these impertinent 
gentlemen into the clouds of oblivion from which they 
sprang and the little and big stars would form a con- 
stellation that would maintain the dignity of our 
glorious profession! 






Chapter XX 
ATMOSPHERIC PLAYS 




t-|T was some sage of long ago who wrote: 

"The muse of painting should be, on the stage, the 
handmaid, not the sister nor rival of the drama." 

I quite agree with the gentleman who 
penned those lines. I disagree with any 
suggestion or device that dwarfs the beauty and art of 
a play. That is why I strenuously object to the term 
" atmosphere' ' as applied to any of our present day 
productions. It is only a cloak and an excuse to con- 
ceal incompetency. 

Let the scenery be well painted, attractive and fitted 
to the frame, but don't take off your roof to pile Pelion 
upon Ossa! Endeavor to please the eye — with pro- 
cessions and real running water, if you like, but keep all 
in due subordination to the acting. Realism was 
strangled after some ungodly years of struggling life. 
For a time acting became subservient to railroad trains, 
buzz saws and waterfalls. Ships were sunk in full view 
of the audience, ice floats cracked and dialogue was 
smothered in the dust of stage cloth and salt. Public 
opinion soon demonstrated this was wrong. " Bertha the 
-Sewing Machine Girl" was relegated to the farm to ascer- 
tain "Why Women Sin" until laundered Hebraic man- 
agers rescued those ladies and atmospheric plays became 
the vogue. 

During the year 191 1 I had splendid opportunities for 
reflection, retrospect and thought, finding consolation in 
books pertaining to the drama of the past, present and 

115 



u6 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

future. I have found great consolation in going over 
the theatrical situation under existing conditions. True, 
I note the devasting results of commercialism, the self- 
interested remarks regarding the welfare of the drama 
(and all concerned in it), the fact that too many theatres 
are being built by managers and stars (with disgusting 
flaunting of the means employed to construct these 
playhouses). 

I have noticed this and I have marvelled. But I 
found relief in reviewing the conditions of long ago. 
More than three hundred years have played havoc with 
the theatres truly. The men of Shakespeare's time are 
no more — and few worthy successors have been born. 
That "inspired intellectual spendthrift, " as Shakespeare 
was called by Robert IngersoII, failed to measure the 
wonder of the journey to be traversed. I discover that 
we have gone back, artistically, in the last fifty years. 

The only atmosphere in the theatre of Shakespeare 
was furnished by the hooting, jostling crowd as it wended 
its way over London bridge for a night at the Fox 
Under the Hill, to be joined later on by the "merry 
fellow" and his companions at the Falcon or Mermaid. 
No doubt they criticised his play to their own, if not 
his entire satisfaction. However, irrespective of any of 
their opinions and without "atmosphere," these criti- 
cisms apparently had the same value as the condemna- 
tions of the self-styled censors of our modern theatre 
and its players. 

What does it matter after all? In the words of Ben 
Jonson, "Let them know the author defies them and 
their writing tables!" 

One never heard of atmospheric plays in my early 
life. It is a delightful coinage. Personally I prefer the 
aeriform fluid in front of the curtain. I never discovered 
the intrinsic value of a painting in a fog, neither did a 
frame ever enhance its value. I want the playhouse to 



ATMOSPHERIC PLAYS 117 

furnish its own nitrogen, oxygen, carbon dioxide and 
other organic matter before the play is produced. 
Then let the performance proceed on its merits, sans 
atmosphere. 

Widen your stage to allow your forests to be seen; 
paint your oceans to flow into space, apparently inter- 
minable; dress your characters as befits the times, with 
corresponding architecture, but, for heaven's sake, 
don't add incense to injury! Let the play proceed and 
the dialogue be heard; let your ear as well as the eye, 
decide the verdict and devote whatever atmosphere you 
consider necessary to the Theatre proper, as did Irving, 
the colossal. When one entered the portals of the 
London Lyceum Theatre, as managed by Henry Irving, 
one felt that sense of intellectual environment and culti- 
vating influence experienced on entering Notre Dame. 

A theatre will lose its atmosphere when the lessee 
vacates the premises just as a small town will when the 
inhabitants leave it. We remember the cities that 
appealed to us in early life and note the changes that 
advancement and progress have made architecturally. 
Maybe we admire the improvements, but that charm of 
something has vanished. What is it? Some will an- 
swer, "Atmosphere." I say, "the people" — those who 
talked and invented the architecture and painting of the 
earlier day. 

We want a Papin or a Newcombe to give us back the 
so-called atmosphere of our youth, but that kind of 
atmosphere talked and said something. 




Chapter XXI 

ACTORS PAST AND PRESENT 

N this era of dramatic chaos the question 
often arises, "How would the actors of 
the past compare with those of the 
present?" 

It is a motley question, and one that 
requires careful consideration in the 
answer. In our youth, we are prone to worship those 
who occupy a sphere above us. Youth is always demon- 
strative and always partial. Therefore views formed at 
that time are apt to influence our opinions in after life. 
To be honest we must discard early impressions, accept 
existing conditions as they materialize and allow our 
judgment full sway only after a thorough retrospect and 
careful analysis of what we considered great in our 
youth. 

I but mildly assert things, full realizing the status of 
the modern player, his wealth, position and social 
standing. I put him in comparison with the actors of 
other days carefully! 

And I am convinced we have retrograded, so far as 
the serious and tragic are concerned. Also we have 
materially advanced in comedy and specialty work. 
The legitimate comedian of to-day I consider far in 
advance of his elder brother. He is cleaner, more 
human, of lighter touch and more subtle. 

We have advanced more rapidly from even my time 
than we did from the ^o's to the 'yo's. From the days 
of William E. Burton and the Owens and Jefferson era 

118 




Those Were the Happy Days 



ACTORS PAST AND PRESENT 119 

the advance has been most pronounced. Dialogue and 
stage business which were in vogue even as late as 1880 
would not be tolerated now. They were not as particu- 
lar regarding comedy as they were in the serious drama. 
The licentious portions of Shakespeare's plays were 
eliminated after (but long after!) the Elizabethan era. 
No doubt the serious dramatist and actor took their 
cues from that procedure and the result was clean and 
dignified performances. But comedy suffered. 

I am sure a play like "The Easiest Way" would never 
have gone beyond the dress rehearsal, as much as they 
admired the serious drama. 

The serious actor always held sway. He was the 
axle upon which the wheels of the theatre were put in 
motion. Consequently the goal of acting of the aspiring 
Alexanders was the realm of tragedy and the market 
was overrun. The result — a Garrick, a George Fred- 
erick Cooke, two Keans, a Macready, a Forrest, three 
Booths, a Gustavus Brooke, an Edwin Adams, a Daven- 
port, a McCuIIough, an Irving, a Possart, a Salvini, a 
Phelps, a Rossi! And the words of William Shakespeare 
came down the years until comedy, properly portrayed, 
came gaily alongside the statelier craft and with laughter 
sank the ship of tears, leaving only one survivor — 
Robert Mantell! 

(And, really, with all the respect that I have for 
Robert's miraculous art I must give my youth the 
benefit of the doubt and award the victory to those 
departed gentlemen who for one hundred and fifty years 
piloted the works of the immortal bard towards the 
shores of prosperity!) 

If they failed to receive the compensation that is now 
conferred upon their comic (and comical) brothers they 
have at least the satisfaction of knowing that they 
brought their art up to the standard of the greatest. 

Now this question arises: Has the comic (and comi- 



120 NAT GOODWINS BOOK 

cal) brother kept faith with his dead sponsor while he 
has leaped over the form of his serious predecessor? 
Has he maintained the dignity of the drama? He will 
answer, "Of course! We are living in the era of pro- 
gression. Comedy is a success! AH the world is 
laughing! Success! Success! We are superior to those 
who have gone before! We make the- world laugh!" 

And the judicious grieve! 

But Time looks sadly down upon the merry makers 
and the measured swing of the pendulum of thought 
and argument questions, "How long will it last?" 

I wonder! 










Chapter XXII 

MAUDE ADAMS 

OW fitting that it should have been 
Maude Adams to create the title role in 
" Peter Pan!" For, truly, here is the 
living personification of the human who 
will never "grow up." Because this is 
so I have no hesitancy in setting down 
here the fact that the first time I saw Miss Adams play 
a part was in 1887! 

It was previous to my production of "The Nominee" 
while I was looking about for an adequate cast that I 
chanced to meet Charlie Hoyt one day. He was then 
successfully producing a new line of farce comedies and 
he asked me to witness the first production of one of his 
plays, "A Midnight Bell." In the cast were Isabel Coe, 
who afterwards became Mrs. Frank McKee, Paul 
Arthur and Maude Adams. With the exception of Paul 
Arthur no one in the cast was particularly notable. 

Those three players appealed to me and I endeavored 
to secure their services, first ascertaining how long they 
were contracted for with Hoyt. I succeeded in procur- 
ing contracts with Miss Coe and Arthur, but failed in 
my endeavors to secure Miss Adams as she insisted upon 
her mother accompanying her. As Estelle Mortimer 
was engaged for the roles of old women in my company 
I could not see my way clear and much to my regret I 
was forced to resign Miss Adams to other managers. 

Arthur and Miss Coe appeared with me in "The Gold 
Mine," a play of which I had the splendid fortune to 

121 



122 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

get control on the death of Johnny Raymond, who 
produced it originally. Arthur is now spending his time 
racing in England, playing bridge and now and then 
appearing in light comedy roles in London. I have 
always considered Paul a most agreeable player. Miss 
Coe has long since retired, Maude Adams still continues 
making history for herself and is to-day, as we all know, 
the most conspicuous actress in America, drawing the 
largest receipts of any actress in the world. 

What a splendid little artist she is! 

"You are missing the sweetest thing on earth — 
romance/' said Maude Adams in Barrie's play "What 
Every Woman Knows." 

With what significance did those lines strike me while 
watching that clever little woman one afternoon. The 
house was packed, women were weeping and laughing 
with her. At the fall of every curtain it was raised and 
raised again. The little artist would bow demurely, 
coyly acknowledge the compliments bestowed upon her 
work and then shuffle to her dressing-room. I found her 
there during one of the intermissions and chatted a few 
moments with her. 

Eight years before we had met in Switzerland. While 
her figure and manner had changed but little I could 
not help but notice the sharpness of feature which the 
eight years had chiseled upon her face. The promissory 
note demanded by eight years of success must be liqui- 
dated and the principal paid. The law of compensation 
must be obeyed. The little furrows on her tiny face 
were accentuated by the lustre of her large, blue-gray 
eyes that looked into yours as though they could pene- 
trate into the recesses of your very soul. 

When she talked it was with a little jerky delivery 
that plainly showed she had herself under perfect con- 
trol and knew whereof she spoke. The secluded life 
she leads, I am told, has given her much time to devote 



MAUDE ADAMS 123 

to her art and study of the masters. One must do 
something besides act when not appearing in repertoire. 
The intelligence expressed in her work plainly indicates 
the thought she has bestowed upon it. 

I consider Maude Adams one of the best English 
speaking actresses on the stage to-day. She has an 
appealing, modulated voice, is easy of carriage, graceful, 
has the power of expressing deep emotion and any 
quantity of comic power, combined with nice repose. 
These qualifications make an actress. 

Miss Adams has enthralled the public of the United 
States; her name is a household word; she stands for 
all that represents true and virtuous womanhood; at 
the zenith of her fame she has woven her own mantle 
and placed it about the pedestal upon which she stands, 
alone. And yet as I looked into those fawn-like eyes I 
wondered! With all her powers, envied by the many, 
rich in worldly goods — did those searching liquid orbs 
denote complete happiness? I felt like taking those 
tiny little artistic hands in mine and saying, "Little 
woman, I fear you are unconsciously missing the 
sweetest thing in life — romance.' ' 

Would she exchange one for the other? 

I wonder! 

January, ign 

What a commentary on the existing commercialism of 
our stage is the present performance of "Chantecler" at 
the Knickerbocker Theatre, New York! What a farce 
is the selection of the dainty, clever Maude Adams as 
the scapegoat for the anticipated failure that is certain 
to ensue! 

There is no gainsaying the fact that after the novelty 
of the production wore off "Chantecler" failed in Paris. 
London, after viewing it, said "Not for mine!" 

Coquelin spoke of the play to me twelve years ago. 
Think of it ! The play was in embryo then and Rostand 



124 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

selected Coquelin to create the role later played by 
Maude Adams! 

After Coquelin's death Guitry, that sterling French 
player, created the character. Notwithstanding even 
his tremendous abilities, Rostand and the critics dis- 
covered that he was not the man for the part. The 
underlying meaning of the part was sacrificed. Bom- 
bastic display usurped the subtle humor intended by 
the author. Cynical humor was stifled by the declama- 
tory Guitry. 

But waiving all criticism of Guitry, by what power 
of monstrous reasoning could any manager select Maude 
Adams to play a role acted by Guitry and written for 
Coquelin? 

When London put "Chantecler" in the discard our 
own astute Charles Frohman — of whom I am very fond 
(and I assure my readers that I am not censuring him 
for he is quite right from his point of view) and who 
had an option on the play — realized he must produce 
it or incur the enmity of the entire French family of 
authors. He was bound to produce that play, submit 
to the exorbitant terms demanded by the author and 
make a production equal to the one in Paris or the 
Parisian theatre doors would be closed against him. 
He agreed to their demands, knowing that he was up 
against it and sure to come out a big loser. He doubt- 
less ruminated, "I must produce it; but how?" 

He was thoroughly assured that no man in America 
could play the part! 

Then it was that this manager, after being drugged 
with the artistic incense of the Parisian stage, became 
suddenly inspired to Grape-Nut his property before the 
American public, Pear's Soap his Chantecler upon the 
cleanly critics, Mellin's Food the baby managers and 
put his one best bet down on Maude Adams, whose 
name is as familiar as any of these articles! 




COQUELIN 

Would be have gone in vaudeville ? I wonder 



MAUDE ADAMS 125 

Was this fair to her? Was this fair to the public, to 
the author, to anyone? Of course not? Why be fair 
with anything or anybody? If you do, you're sure to 
be found out and the world will write you down an ass! 
No! Go on with the good work; don't stop, nor even 
hesitate! Everybody's rich! The dramatic merchants 
own all the moving picture shows, musical comedies, 
burlesques. They are spending their profits in automo- 
biles! They are bedecked in sables! Commercialism is 
running amuck while the artistic foreigner cynically 
observes and stands amazed! 

But fear not, gentle censors, the worst is yet to 
come! Maggie Cline is contemplating an appearance 
in "Hamlet" and Elsie Janis may yet be permitted to 
show us the humor of Dogberry! 

Why not? 

If the commercial gentlemen who wield the sceptre 
do but command submission what does it signify who 
pays the price of admission? 




Chapter XXIII 
TYRONE POWER 
EE! What a bully actor Tyrone Power is! 






126 




Chapter XXIV 

AN ARTISTIC SUCCESS! 

UST before producing "The Nominee" and 
"The Gold Mine" I made the acquaint- 
ance of a very fine fellow, James Piggott, 
a member of Mrs. Langtry's travelling 
company, who had adopted the stage as 
a livelihood, after having lost a for- 
tune through the failure of a bank in Manchester, 
England. 

Jimmie, as his friends were pleased to call him, was 
the personification of an English gentleman, always 
faultlessly dressed, gloved and caned at all hours. He 
would appear at the breakfast table in an immaculate 
get-up, including gloves, even in the dim recesses of 
one-night stands. He always gave the impression that 
he had slept in them. He had always a kind word and 
a smile even under such trying conditions as travelling 
in support of "The Jersey Lily" through the one-night 
stands of the country. 

It was at this time we met. He was most unhappy. 
He had written a play which the managers to whom he 
had submitted it had failed to pass upon favorably. 
He read it to me and it appealed to me very much. I 
agreed to produce it and put it on for one week at 
Hooley's Theatre, Chicago, where it met with some 
degree of success. It had vivid local color, the story 
being English, the scene laid in England. It was called 
"The Bookmaker." 

127 



128 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

I produced it the following year at the Gaiety Theatre, 
London. This was in 1890, following "The Gold Mine." 
Both plays failed, but, personally, I made what they 
were pleased to call "an artistic success." 

Judging from the receipts I would not enjoy an ar- 
tistic failure! 

Poor Piggott was much distressed at the reception of 
his play but was more than courteous to me — perhaps 
because of what he considered my unquestionable hit. 
The play was afterwards revived by Edward Terry and 
Arthur Williams, but "Sacred to its Memory" is in- 
scribed over the tomb of the departed "The Bookmaker." 

While acting in "The Gold Mine" and "The Nominee" 
I became thoroughly convinced that farce comedy was 
doomed, that frivolity was losing ground and that the 
public wanted comedies combining pathos with laughter. 
I found it was becoming easier for me to handle pathetic 
scenes and deliver serious passages. I had solved the 
problem. It was simply a change of method. 

If I were compelled to make a sudden transition from 
gay to grave or vice versa the secret lay in assuming 
another tone, the discarding of a familiar gesture and 
allowing a certain time to elapse before expressing the 
emotion, if only for the infinitesimal part of a second. 
Thought travels quickly and the eyes work in unison. 
This must be studied, rehearsed and exemplified before 
any comedian can hope for a successful interpretation 
of roles combining humor and pathos. 

There are a few comedians of to-day who know the 
art. Were it not that I have no desire to be personal 
I could name names and make it clear to the public 
those who don't know how. Among the few who do 
(and there are only a few) I might mention David 
Warfield, William Thompson, John Mason, George Nash 
and Eddy Abies. 

I was privileged to be one of a box party some years 



AN ARTISTIC SUCCESS 129 

ago witnessing the performance of a play which I very 
much desired. I had- seen it perfectly performed in 
Paris by a man who knew everything pertaining to our 
art, whose pictures were painted with all the delightful 
lights and shadows that form a background for those 
capable of portraying comedy and pathos. 

This play gave an actor every opportunity of por- 
traying all the emotions — comedy, tragedy, farce and 
sentiment. The character ran the dramatic gamut, but 
it required most deft handling, the dividing lines being 
as fine as silken threads, the transitions requiring the 
art of a master. It was a great success in Paris, but 
failed both in London and New York. The English- 
man and American to whom this character was entrusted 
were direct opposites in their respective qualifications, 
one being a pronounced low comedian, the other a 
character actor with little, if any idea of humor. The 
Frenchman combined all the gifts of these two men 
together with the versatility which this character re- 
quired. His success was as pronounced as these gentle- 
men's failures. 

As I sat in the box with the star's wife at my right I 
waited with some anxiety and fear the result of the 
performance. My forebodings became realized as the 
character assumed its first serious aspect. The audience 
failed to deferentiate and a slight titter passed through 
the house as he arrived at his first dramatic, sentimental 
climax. As the play progressed I could see the audience 
manifest its displeasure and move uneasily as the 
plot developed. When the crucial moment came — the 
grand, tragic, culminating scene of the play in which 
the Frenchman held his audience as in a vise the Ameri- 
can audience simply smiled, looked bored and relaxed. 
Instead of applause coming as it should have come at 
the end of the act, the curtain was raised only through 
the appreciation of the ushers at the back! 



130 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

The star's wife turned to me and asked, "What is the 
matter? Why can't do this?" 

"It is very simple, my dear friend," I replied. "He 
hasn't solved the problem. He has failed to change his 
method." 




Chapter XXV 

THE SKATING RINK 

T was some time after, I forget the exact 
date, that I became associated with the 
late Frank Sanger in the production of 
a farcical comedy, called "The Skating 
Rink. ,, We surrounded ourselves with a 
capable company, including Henry Don- 
nelly, Fanny Rice, James Ratcliff, the Fletchers, a trio 
of trick skaters, Major Newall and others. 

We opened in Buffalo (where I had the misfortune to 
meet the second lady who bore my name). 

We opened to a packed house and when the curtain 
rang down I credited myself with another failure. I 
was amazed to ascertain the next morning that I had 
made another "artistic success." But this time the 
house sold out for that evening — also. I was far from 
being satisfied, but I was convinced that if the public 
fancied the material offered at our opening I could im- 
prove the entertainment very much. I so informed 
Sanger, suggesting that he book us for four weeks at 
Hooley's. I guaranteed to give him an entirely new and 
better interpretation of "The Skating Rink" for Chicago. 
He acquiesced and started the next day for New York. 
I called the company together the following evening 
after the play for a rehearsal. My idea was to ascertain 
if any of the company had a specialty that could be 
interjected into this porous play. It permitted all 
sorts of pioneering. The plot stopped at eight thirty ! 

131 



132 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

One gentleman proved capable of swallowing the butt 
of a lighted cigar during the rendering of the verse of a 
song, allowing it to reappear before finishing, and re- 
peating the operation until his stomach rebelled. This 
appealed to me and was introduced the following even- 
ing with marked favor! 

I resuscitated my imitations of famous actors which 
had been lying dormant for years. 

Two or three of the young ladies interpolated some of 
the latest New York ditties, Fanny Rice and I cribbing 
the See-Saw duet. I also introduced an entire act of a 
play called "The Marionettes,' ' assisted by one of the 
skating trio, an Irish song written by a Jew, "Since 
Maggie Learned to Skate," and a burlesque on 
"Camille." I appeared as the coughing heroine! 

By the time we reached Chicago I had discarded all 
of the old manuscript. The plot stopped a few minutes 
earlier. But I kept my promise to Sanger! 

I worked like a galley slave in this polyglot entertain- 
ment, making no less than fifteen changes. When not 
on the stage, which was but seldom, I was busy making 
my wardrobe shifts between scenes, my most trying 
effort being a very quick change from the ball gown 
(with all the female accessories, including corsets) of 
Camille to the apparel of an Irish hod-carrier. I made 
the latter change in less than a minute, disappearing as 
the dying lady on one side of the stage to return from 
the opposite as the Irishman in search of his daughter, 
Maggie. The company, I am pleased to say, made 
distinct successes and received great praise for their 
individual efforts. 

A most amusing incident occurred during a perform- 
ance of this play in Louisville. One of my staunchest 
admirers, named Eli Marks, who always regretted my 
turning aside from serious drama to embark upon the 
sands of farce, came one night much against his will to 



THE SKATING RINK 133 

witness the performance. I met him afterwards. While 
he was pleased with the efforts of the company he failed 
to bestow any particular praise upon my playing. In 
fact nothing I had done seemed to meet with his favor. 
Of course he liked my imitations, but he had seen them 
before. 

"By the way, Nat," he said, "don't lose that Irish- 
man! I think he is the best thing in the whole show. 
Nothing you did can compare with him!" I agreed and 
gravely assured him that it had caused me a lot of 
trouble to coach that man. "Well," he concluded, 
"you are rewarded and don't lose him!" I promised 
to keep him as long as he lived. 

Marks was afterwards told that he was unconsciously 
paying me that compliment, but he refused to believe 
it! He made a wager with the friends who contradicted 
him and would not assume the responsibility of the debt 
until he had come behind the scenes and witnessed my 
change. 

As I got into the overalls and hurriedly grabbed the 
dinner pail, he ejaculated, "Well, by golly, you fooled 
me, old man, but I am glad of it! Come and sup with 
us to-night at the club. If you take my advice you will 
have a play written around the plot of that song. You 
are the best hod-carrier I ever saw!" 




Chapter XXVI 

NUMBER TWO 

|BOUT this time I began to weary of the 
solitude of single life. Living with dear 
old John Mason in our flat in Twenty- 
eighth Street did not appeal to me. 
We were very respectable persons at 
the time and led a most exemplary life, 
irrespective of the opinions in vogue concerning our 
little Haven of Unrest. 

It was while enduring those disconsolate hours that I 
became interested in Mrs. Nella Baker Pease, wife of a 
dilettante, living in Buffalo. She made her appearance 
nightly at the playhouse where we were performing and 
made herself particularly conspicuous by effusive ap- 
plause, generally bestowed when the other portions of 
the audience had finished theirs. It was evident that 
she was discovering hidden beauties in my artistic 
efforts. We were finally introduced and became stead- 
fast friends. 

It took me but a little while to discover that she was 
a gifted woman, possessed of many talents, her most 
conspicuous one being music. She was the best amateur 
piano player to whom I have ever listened. 

During my week's sojourn in Buffalo I was presented 
to her mother, sister, brother and husband. Her sister 
was charming. I wish I could say the same of the rest 
of her family. The brother must have emanated from 
the same pod in which the husband, Pease, was con- 
ceived, or on some coral reef where sponges predominate. 
He proved a most absorbing person. 

134 




Nella Baker Pease 

The best amateur piano player I ever beard 



NUMBER TWO 135 

I invited him once to spend a few days with us in 
New York. He wired that he was coming for "a cup 
of tea" — and stopped for two years! 

With my inherent divinatory gift it required but a 
short time for me to satisfy myself that the little home 
of sunshine occupied by the row of Pease was in reality 
a whitened sepulchre. I discovered that Nella loathed 
her husband, but with the other members of her proud 
family was content to live with him and upon the 
bounty supplied by the dilettante's father (her hubby's 
papa) . 

She bestowed no love, not even respect, upon that 
dilettante hubby. During one of our interviews the 
husband was sent down town, her family was called in 
to meet me and at the earnest solicitations of them all I 
promised to endeavor to aid her in severing her matri- 
monial bonds. I also promised to fit her for the stage 
and to enlist the assistance of Steele Mackaye who was 
then preparing pupils for artistic careers and sunning 
himself upon the porch of Delsarte. After binding 
myself with these obligations I took my departure. 

In a few days I was besieged with letters from Mrs. 
Pease and the family, earnestly entreating me not to 
forget my promises. Finally an epistle came from the 
husband endeavoring to persuade me to do something 
for him! 

I did, all right! 

To gratify his wife's ambition would I secure her an 
opening on the stage or put her with some good tutor? 
He would pay all the expenses, etc. Unfortunately for 
me I assumed this responsibility and succeeded in in- 
teresting my mother in Mrs. Pease's behalf, informing 
her of the harrowing details. So interested did my 
mother become at the recital of the unhappiness of this 
young lady that she invited her to spend a few days at 
our Boston home. Mrs. Pease was also fond of tea! 



136 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

She accepted the invitation — and remained for several 
months. In fact during her visit at my mother's house 
I had resumed my tour on the road and even made a 
trip to Europe! 

Upon my return I met her in our Boston domicile 
where we were thrown a great deal into each other's 
society. She proved very attractive, being well edu- 
cated, a fine conversationist, with a most lovable dis- 
position. Her compositions and execution upon the 
piano were remarkable for an amateur. 

In the meantime I had succeeded in interesting 
Mackaye and was about to place her in his charge, 
when, one day, I was served with papers from the 
husband who charged me with alienating his wife's 
affections! This dropped like a bomb-shell into our 
little circle, as nothing was further from my thoughts 
than marriage. 

When the summons came she took it as a joke, say- 
ing, "What a splendid release from the little incubus!" 
Being at the time interested in a certain prima donna 
known to fame (I might say rather seriously interested), 
I confessed to a non-appreciative state of mind regarding 
her idea of humor and mildly suggested that she furnish 
some solution as a means of escaping from this most 
embarrassing situation. I realized the publicity and 
scandal that must surely come. 

"It is very simple," said she. "Go to Buffalo, buy 
him off, come back to Boston and marry me. Your 
mother is very fond of me and I love her and Dad 
immensely; I am passionately fond of art; I think 
you are one of the most charming men whom I have 
ever met, and I know I can make you superlatively 
happy!" 

After that what could a true-born American do? 

I went to Buffalo, saw this half a husband (good 
title, that!), paid him five thousand dollars, stopped off 



NUMBER TWO 137 

in New York and explained the situation as best I could 
to my prima donna friend who tearfully told me that I 
was "doing the only thing a man could do." 

I had "stolen the lady from her husband," "robbed 
his fireside," "broken up his home" and I "must 
necessarily abide the consequences." 

"The world will condemn you, and it should, but 
she was certain, as was I, that my crime would be 
condoned and maybe in time forgiven." 

The papers were beginning to hint at some unwhole- 
some episode connected with our lives; accusations 
were being forged, ready to be hurled. I must marry 
at once and listen to her play the piano for the rest of 
my life ! I was sure of one thing, however — she would 
never bore me and she never did. But, Gee Whiz! 
what a lot of things she did to equalize things. 

Well, I kept my word. We were married and a beau- 
tiful boy came "to cement our union." From the time 
that that youngster, Nat C. Goodwin, III, came into 
the world until the law separated us, she was a changed 
woman. Up to that time we were happy. I purchased 
a fine residence on West End Avenue, New York, and 
our home was the rendezvous of some of the brightest 
lights of the artistic world. 

And then she became insanely jealous of our darling 
boy and it is here that I drop the curtain upon our 
lives. 

It is not my mission in this book to say anything 
unkind or harsh of any of the women who have married 
me. I wish to confine myself to speaking in terms of 
fullest appreciation of their virtues and merits, leaving 
it to wise censors to judge me. By some power of 
reasoning all men and women elect themselves the 
judges and juries of my actions. Their harsh criticisms 
I leave unanswered, being thoroughly satisfied in my 
own mind that I have committed no offense whatever 



138 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

against humanity, knowing that I have treated honest 
women as they should be treated, with all due deference 
and respect to womankind. 

Poor Nella Baker! She abandoned the glitter and 
glare of the world of fashion to seek refuge in the bosom 
of Bohemia. She extricated herself from the vortex of 
society to get a glimpse of Real Life! The pet of draw- 
ing rooms, she became the wife of a comedian. She 
sought the atmosphere of Henri Murger, but, alas! 
found it not. 

Marriages are made in Heaven — cancelled in Reno ! 

Perhaps some will object to a number of my attitudes 
in this book, particularly as regards my marital ventures. 
I have "no right to refer" to the sanctity of marriage — 
"a union of two souls," cemented by a (paid) preacher, 
"ordained by the Deity," etc! But these good people 
will mistake my attitudes. I do not recognize as sanc- 
tified any ceremony that can be annulled by a five- 
thousand-dollar-a-year judge. 

Reno is known as the Mecca for vacillating souls. 
New York makes it look like thirty cents! 

New York, by comparison, makes Reno look like a 
Mormon Mausoleum! 

AH you have to do in New York is to call at the 
Captain's office, behind closed doors, whisper "Guilty" 
and, presto, you go as free as the birds! If you are 
hoarse, send someone in your place, it's all the same. 
And yet people prate about "the holy bonds of matri- 
mony!" Holy? Yes, with holes big enough to crawl 
through ! 

I leaped through my last one and had the aperture 
sewed behind me! 

I presume that I shall be terribly censured by those 
goody-goody persons who are constantly preaching their 
trust in all mankind and womankind and expatiating 
upon filial devotion and implicit faith in those they 




Nat C. Goodwin, III 



- - - - — 



NUMBER TWO 139 

profess to love. Bah! There is no perfect trust in 
perfect love. 

Whenever I hear a man" (or woman) express himself 
as being tremendously in love, combined with an abiding 
faith even if he and his mate are living in different zones, 
I always watch for the~finale and generally read the epi- 
logue in the Reno "Gazette." When married people 
are separated (this is from my point of view), unless he 
has misgivings when her name is mentioned and his 
pulse does not quicken, if he does not quiver when he is 
told that his wife was seen, beautifully arrayed, enter- 
taining a party of friends at some particular garden 
party or golf club — the little messenger Cupid has 
taken wings. He may strut about like Chantecler, 
proclaiming that his crow awakens the slumbering 
embers of a dying passion, but he is only mesmerizing 
himself. 

Married people should never be separated, not even 
by chamber doors. Our forefathers and mothers never 
occupied separate chambers when the time came for 
prayer and slumber. They were healthy people, if not 
fashionable. Canaries and monkeys provide the warmth 
and oils for their mates' bodies, but in this age of ad- 
vancement and hypocrisy it is considered common to be 
human. 

If mankind would study the ostrich and abide by its 
acts, morality would triumph and married people would 
always be together. 

Distance lends enchantment only when the door of 
the cage is opened by mutual consent. When only one 
returns the door will be found rusty and difficult to 
close. 



Chapter XXVII 
A FIGHT WON (?) 




ILES and BARTON, lessees of the Bijou 
Theatre, New York, took me under con- 
tract in 1886 and immediately I em- 
barked for Europe in search of material. 
As I was scheduled to follow Henry E. 
Dixey, who had made himself famous at 
the time by his performance of Adonis, I realized that 
my task would be a heavy one. On my arrival in 
London I put myself in touch with several authors and 
succeeded in purchasing the rights of " Little Jack 
Shepard," "Erminie," "Turned Up" and a musical 
comedy called "Oliver Cromwell. " 

Armed with this material I returned to America with 
William Yardley, intending to open the season at the 
Bijou with the musical play "Little Jack Shepard" 
under his direction. We produced this play in the 
autumn, but did not realize our expectations. In the 
cast were Loie Fuller, who played the title role, Charles 
Bishop, Lelia Farrell and a prima donna whose name I 
forget. (She couldn't sing for nuts, but fortunately the 
first night she suffered from a severe cold which forced 
iter to speak the lyrics.) 

During the run of "Little Jack Shepard" I read the 
various librettos I had purchased abroad and while 
Miles (dear old Bob!) congratulated me on my per- 
spicacity in procuring such material, Barton objected 
strenuously to one and all of them and advised me to 
dispose of them to the best advantage. I immediately 

140 



A FIGHT WON (?) 14 1 

sought Frank Sanger and disposed of all my holdings to 
him at just what they had cost me. I had previously 
read the book of " Erminie." Gus Kerker played the score 
for us. Barton, with his usual capacity for doing the 
wrong thing, violently protested against "Erminie," say- 
ing it was a reflex of the old play "Robert Macaire" and 
vastly inferior! 

When business dropped with "Little Jack Shepard," 
Miles and Barton were in a quandary as to what would 
follow it and came to me with a request that I put on 
one of the plays which I had brought over from Europe. 
I asked them which they preferred and they decided 
upon " Erminie." "Very well," I said, " I will see what I 
can do, but unfortunately I have disposed of the rights 
to Mr. Frank Sanger." We called him up on the tele- 
phone and found that he had left the office at the 
request of the management of the Casino, but would be 
back in half an hour. I jumped into a cab, went to the 
office and saw Frank. He informed me that he had 
just sold the American rights to Aronson, manager of 
the Casino, who had engaged Francis Wilson to play the 
leading part. Sanger was much distressed about this 
as he considered that the part would suit me "down to 
the ground. " Everyone knows the history of " Erminie." 
It made everybody connected with it rich. Through 
Barton's dogmatic stupidity we all lost fortunes. 

I asked Frank if he had disposed of all the material 
that I had sold him and discovered that "Turned Up" 
was still in the market. He very kindly offered it to us 
for a thousand dollars down (he had previously paid me 
five hundred cash for it) and only ( !) ten per cent of the 
gross receipts. We were forced to accept the play upon 
those conditions. We opened with it, in conjunction 
with a burlesque on "The Bells" written for me by Sydney 
Rosenfeld. In this I appeared as Mathias, giving an 
imitation of Henry Irving. We retained most of the 



142 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

cast that we had used in the previous bill with the 
exception of Robert Hilliard and Charlie Coote whom I 
engaged to play the two light comedy roles. 

I have never been associated with an entertainment 
which was received with such manifest appreciation as 
that double bill. We thought we were in for a run of 
at least one season and maybe two. So sanguine was 
Hilliard over the success of that evening that he spent 
two hundred dollars the following day in decorating his 
dressing-room. He was sure we had found our theatri- 
cal home for six months or a year. 

Barton, one of the old-school managers, considered 
that the performance of " Turned Up," irrespective of its 
success, was destroying the policy of his little playhouse. 
The idea of Miles and Barton was to make the Bijou 
the home of burlesque and comic opera and while 
"Turned Up" was turning the people away Barton 
writhed under its success. It was produced without his 
sanction and success meant nothing to him when com- 
pared with his wounded vanity. The receipts went as 
high as nine thousand on the week and never dropped 
below six thousand during the entire run which was 
only eight weeks. 

Much to our surprise, Barton one day insisted upon 
taking off "Turned Up." He figured that whenever the 
receipts fell below a certain figure (which should have 
been a sufficient profit for any playhouse), they were 
losing money and Miles discovered that instead of hav- 
ing the usual two weeks' clause in all of their contracts 
with the artists they were engaged for a stipulated num- 
ber of weeks. This included even the ladies and gentle- 
men of the chorus. The result was that a salary list of 
about fourteen hundred dollars a week represented a 
company walking around doing nothing. There was no 
chorus in "Turned Up." I suggested that he sublet his 
people and not perform such a suicidal act as closing a 



A FIGHT WON(?) 143 

gold mine, but I was voted down. We then revived 
"The Skating Rink" and "The Mascot" to only mediocre 
business. 

About this time a New York critic, A. C. Wheeler, 
submitted a manuscript entitled "Big Pony," music by 
Woolson Morse, a very clever composer whose "Cinderella 
at School" I had previously produced at the Boston 
Museum. We accepted this play and gave it a magnifi- 
cent production. On the reading I thought that the first 
and third acts were exceptionaly fine and the title role, 
Big Pony, I fancied too. I suggested that the second 
act might be improved. The dialogue referred to political 
issues that were long since dead. Wheeler insisted that 
the play should be performed as he had written it and 
would not permit one change. He proved very obdurate 
and we were finally compelled to either accept it as writ- 
ten or give it up. We finally decided to produce it and 
much to my dissatisfaction I was compelled to deliver 
supposedly funny lines which I knew were funereal. 

The first act proved a sensational hit, my entrance 
receiving such a tumult of applause that it was fully a 
minute and a half before I was permitted to sing my 
first song. This was a most difficult composition. The 
lyrics were in the true Indian language, v/hich made it 
very difficult for any of the cribbers of the time to 
hypothecate it. (I am sure that the champion purveyor 
of songs, Seymour Hicks, would have encountered a 
"water jump" had he tried to. Hicks has often been 
called "Steal More Tricks" on account of his fascinating 
and "taking" ways.) We had a very good third act, 
but the second act was so terrible that the play proved 
an unmitigated failure. 

Wheeler, known as Nym Crinkle, one of the cleverest 
critics of his time, was a most unscrupulous fellow and 
he took his medicine as such fellows usually take it. 
Instead of accepting the inevitable as a true sportsman 



144 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

should, Wheeler attributed the play's failure to me and 
without my knowledge became my bitter foe. The 
papers were severe in their reviews of the play, but 
most gracious to all the players, particularly to me. 
This rankled in his diminutive heart. Having torn 
down so many houses, he could not stand having his 
own citadel stormed. While we often met in the private 
office and talked over the possibilities of resuscitation he 
would smilingly, yet stubbornly, refuse to alter a line 
or allow anyone to suggest changes. The play evidently 
appealed to his vanity. He never missed a performance, 
occupying a box with a lady who owned a half interest 
in the piece, a Miss Estelle Clayton. 

We all knew that the play was doomed and knowing 
that it was shortly to be taken off many of us took 
liberties with the text and gagged whenever the oppor- 
tunity presented itself. I remember a gambling scene 
that I had in the last act in which I threw dice with one 
of the characters, incidentally losing all my fortune and 
vast estates. One evening as my last dollar disappeared 
over the dice cloth I noticed Wheeler (as usual in the 
box) beaming at some of my sallies. I said to the 
opposite character, "Now, my friend, I will throw you 
for this play — manuscript, parts and all." 

The players and the audience, knowing that the play 
was about to be withdrawn, screamed with laughter. 
Just as I was pondering over some other funny quip my 
heart came up into my throat as I saw the box party 
get up and file out, their backs expressing profound 
indignation. I said to myself, "My finish," and 
maudled through the rest of the performance. I had 
made an enemy for life of A. C. Wheeler and well he 
exercised his avenging powers. For years he assailed 
me from every angle, his vilifying articles never ceasing 
until his death. I was to blame, I presume, but I 
really intended no harm — only fun. 



A FIGHT WON(?) 145 

That same evening I unconsciously offended and 
made an enemy of another person, one of the box 
party, a Mr. Durant, a downtown broker who, I after- 
wards ascertained, shared half of Miss Clayton's interest 
in the play. Up to that time I had never heard of the 
gentleman and we never met until several weeks after. 
One day in Kirk's cafe on Broadway at Twenty-seventh 
Street I was approached by a half drunken individual 
who insultingly invited me to drink. I was seated at a 
table with dear old Anson Pond and politely refused 
several of his solicitations. He was most persistent, 
accompanying his requests with profane and obscene 
references to me and my work on the stage. 

The place was packed with men who stopped and 
listened to the drunken tirade the stranger was heaping 
upon me. Pond, an athlete, calmly looked on and said 
nothing. One or two of the bartenders quietly signalled 
me to hit him on the head with something. I turned to 
Anson and said, "If this fellow doesn't stop it looks as 
if I must put one over." He smilingly approved. 
Then the drunken gentleman leered at me, again inviting 
me to drink. If that didn't appeal to me he was willing 
to accompany me to some adjacent room, lock the door 
and the one who survived would return the winner. 
Before I answered his belligerent request I swung my 
puny right which landed, fortunately, upon the point 
of his impertinent jaw and down he went in a heap. 

This seemed to meet with the approval of the specta- 
tors and I calmly resumed my seat, thinking that he 
would take the count. Imagine my horror when I saw 
this huge man unravel himself, slowly rise and approach 
me with much ferocity. He was about six feet tall, and 
weighed in the neighborhood of two hundred pounds. 
That was the way he appeared to me, at all events. I 
naturally expected Pond or some of the on-Iookers to 
interfere, but no such luck! As he viciously approached 



146 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

me he swung his right very hard at my head. I ducked 
it, got to my feet, determined to find out if he knew 
anything about boxing. I feinted him and discovered 
that he was ignorant of everything pertaining to the 
noble art. I also realized that if he ever caught me in 
his embrace it was "Goodnight to home and mother" 
for "America's Foremost !" I jumped about and 
finally with good judgment and better luck, landed a 
punch on the identical chin, in the same place, and down 
went the part owner of "Big Pony," again. 

Still no interference! The bartenders continued non- 
chalantly wiping the tumblers. Pond kept on com- 
placently puffing his weed and the spectators obligingly 
formed an extemporaneous ring. I was standing, gasp- 
ing, in the center of the room. My right hand was split 
and rapidly becoming the size of a cantaloupe. 

The gentleman on the floor slowly uncoiled himself 
and came at me again, only to receive a blow on the 
same spot and go to the floor. This time I nearly 
went with him! Weighing about one hundred and 
thirty pounds my work upon the human punching bag 
was beginning to tell. This kept up for two more 
rounds and still no one interfered. The reason was 
afterwards explained to me. I was "winning so easily!" 

Winning, indeed! I was slowly dying and had I been 
possessed of the necessary courage I would have solicited 
interference, realizing that I must stop or faint! I was 
slowly but surely passing away. I had enough strength 
left in my legs to back towards the lunch counter, 
knowing that there were missiles on the table. As he 
closed in on me, instead of endeavoring to avoid him, 
I clutched him in a fond, yet tenacious, embrace. As 
we went down I reached up on the table, endeavoring 
to grasp the first article on which my hand came in 
contact. I clutched something, which proved to be a 
castor filled with its usual bottles. I hadn't enough 



A FIGHT WON(?) 147 

strength left to lift the article but I dragged it casually 
down and let it fall gently upon the gentleman's fore- 
head, which was beneath me. As the catsup, Worcester- 
shire sauce and vinegar slowly trickled into his eyes he 
gently drew me towards him and whispered, "I've had 
enough." 

He anticipated me by just a second! 

I gallantly permitted him to rise, after gracefully 
tumbling off his stomach. Then in stentorian tones I 
said, "Get up, you loafer!" and walked majestically 
away. I pantomimed to Pond (I couldn't talk after 
that one burst of "Get up") to get me some brandy 
and water and under the pretext of 'fatigue I laid my 
head upon his shoulder — and passed away for about 
five minutes. 

I explained this encounter to Ed. Buckley some weeks 
later and after receiving his congratulations, I queried, 
"Kindly tell me, Ned, how — when my antagonist was 
out the next day without a mark on him and I never 
left my bed for two weeks — how do you figure me the 
winner?" 

Ned's silence was profound. 






Chapter XXVIII 
JOHN CHAMBERLAIN 




LjOR many years I always looked forward 
to my annual visit to Washington with 
a great deal of pleasure for two reasons 
— I was sure of magnificent results so 
far as my engagements were concerned 
and a jolly good time besides. I always 
arranged my tour so as to play one week there, followed 
by a week's vacation. It was a necessary precaution! 

Often I omitted rest altogether, just continuing the 
round of pleasure without pause. Dinners were followed 
by suppers, suppers by breakfasts! After a night at 
John Chamberlain's famous hostelry one felt that one 
never wanted to go to bed. 

At that time Chamberlain's was the best known and 
the most popular resort of the cleverest men in the 
United States. For here one was sure of the best food 
in the country. The wines were of the finest quality. 
It is little wonder that it was known as the rendezvous 
of the enlightened. 

Generally after the matinee and always after the 
evening performance I would wend my way to Chamber- 
Iain's and bathe in the atmosphere of the clever men 
who were the habitues. Here were congregated such 
men as Roscoe Conklin, James G. Blaine, President 
Arthur, Senators Brice, Beck, Blackburne and Jones, 
Secretary of the Treasury John G. Carlisle, William 
Mahone of Virginia, Arthur Pugh Gorman, Grover 

148 



JOHN CHAMBERLAIN 149 

Cleveland, Speaker Crisp, Tom Reed of Maine, the first 
Czar of the Senate, John Allen, Lawrence Jerome, the 
witty father of William Travers Jerome later to become 
District Attorney of New York, Amos Cummings, 
Blakely Hall, Joe Howard, Jr. — but why enumerate all 
the leading characters of the United States? Men who 
were making American history congregated at this noted 
tavern and over a bottle of wine or an apple toddy dis- 
cussed national affairs or the latest leg show. Chamber- 
Iain's was indeed the Hall of Fame. 

For a period extending over twenty-five years John 
Chamberlain was as well known on the streets of Wash- 
ington as any man occupying the executive chair. A 
portly man, weighing over two hundred pounds, his 
rotund figure was visible every pleasant afternoon as he 
strolled along Pennsylvania Avenue, always in company 
with some distinguished statesman. John was friendly 
with the mightiest. 

John was one of the most affable of men. Never 
ruffled, he took the world for what it was worth and 
smiled with equal facility whatever came — whether 
failure or success (and he had his share of both). Be- 
ginning life as a roustabout on the Mississippi River he 
later blossomed forth as a professional gambler and soon 
was the most conspicuous member of that fraternity. 
It was in this way that he became immensely wealthy. 
But ill-luck overtook him as it chased him down the 
Road of Chance and Speculation and he landed on the 
rocks. 

When men make fortunes by their wits, playing and 
preying upon the credulity of mankind, and misfortune 
overtakes them they are as a rule as helpless as children. 
Age has dulled their mentality. The charm that appeals 
to the gullible has vanished. Inventions to trap the 
credulous are more up to date and aged grafters must 
give way to the younger and more enlightened. 



150 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

Poor John realized that his day had come, but taking 
advantage of the many friends he had made during the 
days of his prosperity and realizing that a spark of the 
old brilliancy yet remained he interested a few friends 
in a scheme to open a high-class restaurant, where the 
quality of wine and food could not be excelled in Amer- 
ica and the prices prohibitive to any but those who could 
afford such luxuries. Having himself been a bon vivant 
for years John was of full form, "with good capon 
lined." No one was better fitted to cater to the tastes 
and inclinations of American statesmen. The Blaine 
residence was secured and Chamberlain was launched. 
It consisted of two houses thrown into one. We all 
met in one large room on the corner, a room about a 
hundred and fifty feet long and forty feet wide. In 
that room I have met the men as I have mentioned. 

Many a night I have listened to dear William Mahone 
later known as "Little Billy," relate his experiences in 
the war. I have gone upstairs and watched the heavy 
play at poker (for stakes that would have amazed the 
many had they known the amount played for). I have 
watched the stolid Roscoe Conklin, as he came and 
went, recognizing hardly any one, majestic in demeanor, 
suggesting a proud turkey contemplating his barnyard 
companions. Then comes the magnetic James G. 
Blaine, in direct contrast to his adversary, Conklin, who 
cost him the Presidency of the United States. Blaine 
most often was listening to the caustic, rasping tones of 
Tom Reed who ordered his apple toddy in a voice an- 
other man would use to give an enemy the lie! I have 
hung on the words of brilliant Bob IngersoII as they 
rolled from his colossal brain, gone from one table to 
another — to find each one more attractive than the 
last! 

It was like sitting at a dress rehearsal of a play where 
all the actors were stars. I was in a theatre, a truly 



JOHN CHAMBERLAIN 151 

national playhouse, where plays were written every 
night. The plots of these dramas were so thrilling as to 
make their telling cause for envy ! I count it one of the 
greatest privileges of my life to have seen these players 
as I saw and heard them. 

Well, the hostelry is torn down, the landlord has 
paid his rent and sought a perpetual abode. All those 
whom I have mentioned are John's guests, wherever he 
is. He will meet them with a cold bottle and a hot 
bird and in some far off star I fancy I can see them all 
reunited, old Mammy, the cook, still quarreling with the 
head waiter as he communicates to Peter, "The season 
for canvas-back ducks is over, but Mr. John has just 
ordered some Philadelphia capon that he can highly 
recommend." 

Chamberlain is now only a memory as far as Wash- 
ington is concerned, but he has left a monument at Old 
Point Comfort where the hotel that bears his name now 
stands. It took him years to consummate the deal 
whereby the government gave him the concession that 
enabled his friends to advance the money to build that 
magnificent hotel. John never lived to see it succeed. 
Before he died the property went into the hands of a 
receiver and his friends lost their money. His grief 
undoubtedly hastened his end. 

Which star do John and the brilliant men I have 
mentioned occupy? 

I wonder! 




Chapter XXIX 

W. S. GILBERT 

NE of the most gifted men I have ever 
met was W. S. Gilbert, of Gilbert & 
Sullivan fame. He was not a very 
pleasant companion socially as he was 
more of a cynic than a wit, but at inter- 
vals he would make his cynicism sub- 
servient and become most agreeable. 

At the Crystal Palace one evening I had the pleasure 
of being seated next to him at a banquet, where, Bern- 
and, Editor of "Punch," was chairman. Bernand, I was 
told, was very jealous of Gilbert, which became rather 
apparent as the banquet progressed, both he and Gilbert 
indulging in several combats of repartee. 

Gilbert was telling us a rather amusing incident at 
which we were all laughing very decidedly, when 
Bernand shouted down the line of diners, "Are you 
chaps laughing at those funny sayings of Gilbert, which 
he sends to * Punch' and never gets in?" Gilbert quickly 
replied, "I do not know who sends the funny things to 
* Punch,' but I do know that they never get in." 

Gilbert was once asked his opinion of Sir Herbert 
Tree's performance of "Hamlet." "Well," he said "it 
was very, very funny and not at all vulgar." 



152 




Chapter XXX 

HENRY E. DIXEY 

QUAL if not superior to myself in the 
versatility of "ups" and " downs" in the 
theatrical firmament has been the career 
of Henry E. Dixey. Twenty-five years 
ago he was the toast of the Town. As 
Adonis his fame was heralded from 
coast to coast and even permeated across to England. 
His appearance on any stage was an event. When he 
appeared in Boston after a run of nearly two years in 
New York he stopped the traffic and multitudes swarmed 
the streets as he passed through the city on his way to 
the Adams House. He was finally forced to appear 
upon the balcony to acknowledge this tremendous re- 
ception. Ten years after I saw him smothered nearly 
into oblivion as one of the members of Weber & Field's 
burlesque company on Broadway, the scene of his 
former triumphs. My heart bled for him, as I had 
seen him previously give splendid character perform- 
ances in the melodrama "Romany Rye." A few years 
after I saw him come forth again resplendent as David 
Garrick in Stuart Robson's play of "Oliver Goldsmith," 
only to disappear again as a legerdemain performer and 
in vaudeville. Then he scored a tremendous hit in one 
of Miss Amelia Bingham's plays. So it has gone on for 
over twenty-five years. Undaunted, the graceful Harry 
jumps over the rails of failure into the pastures of 
success. He is truly a wonderful man. We have 
known each other for many years appearing as long ago 

153 



154 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

as 1876 in Rice's "Evangeline" at the Boston Museum, 
when Dixey performed the character of the Jorelegs of 
the heifer not the hind ones, my dear pal, the late Dick 
Golden, performing that equally strenuous role. I doff 
my hat to Henry E. Dixey and wish him a long pros- 
perous career on his journey down the other side of the 
mountain of life. He, like myself, has passed the fifty 
mark, and he tells me he is just learning how to act 
and Mr. Oliver Morosco tells the public he has no use 
for middle aged actors. Think it over Mr. Morosco. 
Dixey has just scored one of the hits of his life in 
young Mr. Mackaye's play of "A Thousand Years 
Ago/' I'm glad and I congratulate my good friend, 
Henry E. Dixey. 



Chapter XXXI 




SWAGGER NEW YORKERS OF ANOTHER 

DAY 

HEN I was quite a lad in New York I 
had the good fortune to mingle with 
some of the swagger men-about-town. 
They were the real society men of the 
time, not the milk sops of the present 
day. My acquaintances were men like 
Leonard Jerome, known as Larry among his intimates, 
William P. Travers, Wright Sanford, Cyrus Field, John 
Hoey, Neil O'Brien, whose sobriquet was "Oby," and 
many others. And they were all witty, clever men of 
the world. My talent for mimicry was the cause of my 
association with these charming men. 

Among the wittiest of the lot was Mr. Travers, who 
was handicapped by an impediment of speech, a slight 
stammer, that was almost fascinating. One day, he 
asked me if I knew where he could purchase a good 
dog that could kill rats. A lady friend had commis- 
sioned him to purchase one. I took him to a dog fan- 
cier's in Houston Street and introduced him to the 
canine connoisseur. 

In a few moments Travers was the possessor of as 
fine a looking terrier as I ever saw. When I told the 
proprietor who his customer was he was overwhelmed 
and, taking him to one side, said, "Mr. Travers, I want 
to give you a practical demonstration of what that dog 
can do with a rat." 

155 



156 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

"Ger-ger-a-go to it," replied Travers, "b-b-bring on 
your rer-rer-rat and I'll rer-rer-referee the ber-ber- 
battle." 

In a few minutes the man returned and threw the 
largest rat I ever saw into the pit. It had flowing gray 
whiskers and looked every inch a fighter as it stood on 
its hind legs ready for battle. The dog looked at it for 
a moment as if in surprise at the bellicose attitude of 
the rodent. While the terrier hesitated the rat acted! 
With one flying leap Sir Rodent fastened his teeth upon 
the upper lip of the dog. Howling with pain the canine 
finally shook off the rat and with a yell jumped over the 
pit and ran yelping down the street. 

The owner started after him, but Travers held him 
back, saying, " Nev-nev-never mind the d-d-dog, wha- 
wha-what'II you take for the rat?" 

One day Travers was inspecting one of the palatial 
steamers that had been built by James Fisk, Jr., and 
Jay Gould. As he passed down to the main saloon, he 
was confronted by two huge medallions, painted in oil, 
of Fisk and Gould, on each side of the stairway. He 
looked at them for a moment, then turned to one of his 
companions, saying: 

"Where is the per-per-picture of our Saviour?" 



U-W- 


fe^H 


4 . 


^ 











Chapter XXXII 

JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY 

T was just after I had learned of the 
serious illness of that delightful poet and 
blessed friend, James Whitcomb Riley, 
the Bobby Burns of America, that I 
penned the following: 

How cruel of Nature to take one of 
her favorite children if she decides to! 

Why make humanity weep and chill our hearts? 
Why cause the Indiana flowers to cry for a gardener 
— for who will sing their praises when dear Jim has 
gone? i 

Why clog "The Old Swimmin* Hole" with weeds? 
When our truant fancy wanders to "That Old Sweet- 
heart of Mine," we won't purchase tickets for "Grigsby's 
Station" for "The Latch String" will have been severed. 
No coffee will be served "Like Mother Used to Make" 
for "Dat Leedle Boy of Mine." 

Only the barren, dusty road of decay will mark the 
meadows of melody that Riley has planted with the 
seeds of song and when Dame Nature commands his 
spirit to join the other singers in the celestial choir we 
who are left saddened can only kneel upon the sod made 
fragrant by his presence and entreat the messengers to 
bear him gently over the hills out to "Old Aunt Mary's" 
where the "Raggerty" man will whisper "Good-bye, Jim; 

take care of Yourself." 

157 



158 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

As events transpired it was I who nearly started on 
the last long journey — and Jim recovered. And one 
day in 191 2 came this message to ease my bed of 
pain: — 

Indianapolis Ind Oct 9 Via Long Beach Calif Oct 10th 12 
Nat Goodwin, 

Ocean Park Calif. 
Heartiest appreciation for your good birthday greetings and all 
best wishes for your speedy recovery Loyally as ever. 

9 28 a.m. James Whitcomb Riley 







Chapter XXXIII 

DIGBY BELL AND DE WOLF HOPPER 

T is a supreme satisfaction to look back 
over a period of 25 years, and realize 
one has retained the friendship of even 
one man. I have been successful with 
a few, but the most gratifying has been 
the continued friendship between Digby 
Bell, De Wolf Hopper and myself. We began our re- 
spective careers in the seventies, at about the same time, 
and have appeared often in the same characterizations, 
principally in comic and light opera, and always enjoyed 
the other's performances much better than our own. 
We have frequently appeared at benefit performances 
and always enjoyed ourselves immensely, irrespective of 
the pleasure we were contributing to others. 

Bell and Hopper, are directly opposite to one another 
in make up and manner, although both are gifted with 
conspicuous personalities, particularly Hopper. They 
gave a keen sense of humor accompanied with much 
gray matter, and I consider them two of the most in- 
telligent men on our stage to-day. Both are gifted with 
the power to amuse off the stage as well as on, being 
splendid recontours. Hopper is particularly happy as 
an after-dinner talker and before the curtain speech- 
maker, and his Casey at the Bat, has become an American 
classic. 

Bell and Hopper, make charming companions and one 
never regrets an hour or two spent in their society. 

159 



160 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

They say the only true way to know a man is to 
travel with him, or be associated with him in business. 
I had the privilege many years ago to spend many 
happy days in the society of Hopper, enjoying a holiday 
spent abroad. We intended making a journey over the 
Continent, but London proved so attractive that we 
remained there most of our time. 

I had the pleasure of introducing Hopper to my 
English friends and some of the London clubs, and he 
very soon made a host of friends. 

Rather a funny incident happened during our stay in 
London. A Miss Bessie Bellewood, had made a tre- 
mendous hit in the music halls at this time, and I was 
particularly anxious that Hopper should witness one of 
her performances, as I considered her one of the cleverest 
vaudeville artists I had ever seen. Hopper was doomed 
to disappointment, however, as he had tried several 
times to witness her acting, but on these various occa- 
sions, something happened which prevented the clever 
Bessie from turning up at the hour she was advertised 
to appear, and when her turn came, instead of her 
name being pushed into the receptacle which announces 
the respective performers, they would shove in a sign 
which read, "Extra Turn," and somebody would take 
her place. 

One afternoon I met Hopper and told him that I had 
made arrangements for us to accept invitations to 
luncheon, dinner and supper, but I, not feeling well, 
decided I would only accept the latter, and intended to 
go to my hotel preparatory to joining him at supper. 
He condoled with me and we parted, I ostensively to go 
home and secure my much needed rest, Hopper de- 
termining to accept all three of the invitations. As he 
was returning from his dinner engagement, he noticed 
Bessie Bellewood was to appear that afternoon at the 
London Tivoli Music Hall, Hopper determined to take 




In Confusion 

Back in the eighties 



DIGBY BELL AND DE WOLF HOPPER 161 

another chance, his seventh, at seeing the illusive Bessie, 
purchased a ticket after inquiring the time which she 
was to appear that evening, and went, full of expecta- 
tions. When the time came for Bessie's appearance, to 
Hopper's horror, again was the card thrust into the 
aperture saying, "Extra Turn." He arose and went 
into the street filled with rage, and meeting a friend, he 
said that he did not believe any such artist lived as 
Bessie Bellewood. The friend assured him there was, 
and if he would take time to cross over and look into 
Romonas' Restaurant, he would find the festive Bessie, 
with his friend Nat Goodwin, at a sumptuous repast, 
where they have been sojourning since two o'clock that 
afternoon. Hopper came over, his massive form appear- 
ing at our table and said, "I thought you were home in 
bed," to which I replied, "I was on my way my dear 
'Willie,' but meeting my friend Miss Bellewood, we 
came in for a quiet tete-a-tete, and have been tete-a- 
teting all the afternoon." 

I apologized for interfering with Bessie's professional 
duties, but told Hopper that if he would accompany us 
upstairs, Miss Bellewood would volunteer to sing three 
of her latest songs. We adjourned to one of Romonas' 
private music rooms where Bessie regaled us with song 
and anecdote, which caused us both to miss our supper 
appointment. He agreed with me that Bessie Belle- 
wood was the best music hall artist he had ever had 
the pleasure of witnessing. 



Chapter XXXIV 
BLAINE AND INGERSOLL 




LADDIE" SOTHERN, De Wolf Hopper and 
I were returning to America after a 
most delightful trip abroad when we 
suddenly decided to stop off at Queens- 
town and take a drive through Ireland 
in a jaunting car. 



The driver of the vehicle proved a most loquacious 
fellow who bubbled over with Irish humor. It took 
him but a very short time to set us down as Americans. 

Hopper and I actually are! 

I took a seat beside him and began to question him 
about the possibilities of Home Rule. He evaded my 
questions for a time, but presently in a spirit of confi- 
dence told me that he was convinced that the time was 
ripe for the freeing of Ireland. He even gave me a date 
when they would be relieved from thraldom. He 
leaned quietly forward and imparted the information, 
under promise of profound secrecy, that there were 
ninety thousand men hiding in the County of Kildare, 
110,000 in Tipperary and among the hills, rocks and 
caves of Killarney, 200,000 on the outskirts of Dublin 
and an equal number distributed through County Cork, 
combined with several secret organizations throughout 
Ireland numbering more than 600,000! The hills were 
well stocked with dynamite and Winchester rifles, sent 
from America and closely guarded. He further assured 
me that when the "head-centre" was satisfied all the 

forces would be concentrated and Ireland would be free. 

162 



BLAINE AND INGERSOLL 163 

"Why don't you do it at once?" I asked. 

"Begorra, the police won't let us!" he replied. 

On my arrival home I told this story to Robert G. 
IngersoII and James G. Blaine at a luncheon given me 
at the former's residence in Washington. They were 
very much interested in my narrative. In fact they 
took it seriously, Blaine being particularly impressed 
with the amalgamation of the Irish forces and in their 
serious intentions. As I went on, repeating the number 
of troops that were supposed to be in hiding I noticed 
a twinkle in IngersoII's eyes. Blaine looked somewhat 
surprised, but credulous. 

As coffee was being served, I sprang the climax of my 
story with the result that the coffee spread its course 
over the damask table cloth. They must have laughed 
for five minutes. 

I always knew that IngersoII had a tremendous sense 
of humor, but I never credited Blaine with any. When- 
ever we met in after life, he never failed to refer to my 
jaunting car story. 




Chapter XXXV 

JIM CORBETT IN ENGLAND 

OME years ago James J. Corbett, the 
ex-champion pugilist of the world, was 
appearing at Drury Lane Theatre in 
London much to the dissatisfaction of 
the resident actors, authors and man- 
agers. They considered it in the light 
of a sacrilege for a prize fighter to desecrate the boards 
which a Kean and a Macready had trod. 

One night at the Green Room Club I was taken to 
task by that clever dramatist Hamilton for allowing my 
countryman and fellow player, as he sarcastically put 
it, to appear upon London's sacred stages. I dis- 
claimed all responsibility. 

"I know, my dear boy," he insisted, "but you Ameri- 
cans should not allow one of your countrymen to take 
such liberties with the drama; you should take the 
necessary means to prevent such acts of vandalism!" 
He continued with a tirade of abuse, accusing me of 
being a party to Corbett's appearance. He finished his 
remarks with, "Do you and your enlightened country- 
men consider Mr. Corbett a good actor?" 

By this time I had become very much angered at his 
many impertinent remarks and I said, "No, but he can 
whip any man in the world and that's why we worship 
him — not as an actor, but as a representative of the 
manly art of self-defense!" 

As I warmed to my argument I went on to extol the 

man's gifts that have made him famous in Fistiana, 

164 



JIM CORBETT IN ENGLAND 165 

using terms and expressions utterly unknown to Hamil- 
ton who was aghast at the adulation and adjectives 
I applied to Corbett. 

"This man not only combines the prowess of the 
average heavy-weight," I explained, "but he can 
counter, side-step and swing! In avoiding punishment 
he has the agility of a feather-weight! In fact," I 
concluded, "you can't hit Corbett with a bullet!" 

"What a pity!" said Hamilton. 




Chapter XXXVI 

THE COCKNEY CABBY COMEDIAN 

WAS returning from the Newmarket 
races in England after a very poor day, 
having failed to back a winner. Arriv- 
ing at Waterloo station I found it was 
raining in torrents. Not fancying han- 
som cabs in that kind of weather I per- 
mitted the crowd to rush along the platform in a frantic 
endeavor to secure a cab, having made up my mind to 
content myself with a four wheeler. It is not a particu- 
larly attractive vehicle (four wheelers are generally in 
use all night and retain a stuffy and most uncomfort- 
able aroma therefore), but it is safe! 

At the station there is an opening of about fifty feet 
from one platform to another, unsheltered and roofless. 
I looked across and discovered a solitary cab with an 
old man holding the ribbons listlessly. The downpour 
fell about his narrow shoulders which were meagerly 
protected by the thinnest of rubber covering. After I 
had shouted several times for him to come over and get 
me he slowly turned around and replied : — 

"You come over here; my beast is a bit weary." 
I dug my head into my coat and waded across the 
street, drenching myself to the skin in that short inter- 
val. I quickly opened the cab door, fell upon the damp 
cushions and gasped, "Carleton Hotel." 

"Righto, Governor," came the response from the all 
but drowned cabby and the vehicle began its weary 
journey, fairly crawling down Waterloo Hill. Having 

166 



THE COCKNEY CABBY COMEDIAN 167 

a very important dinner party on hand and realizing it 
was late I became somewhat anxious. Leaning out of 
the window I shouted : — 

"My good man, send your horse along. I am in great 
haste." 

"He's doing his level, governor," he replied. "I 
can't shove him. He's human as we are and besides 
he's been out all night." 

I sank back onto the cushions biting my nails in sheer 
desperation as the cab moved even more slowly. Again 
indulging myself in a shower bath from the open win- 
dow, I looked out and pleaded. 

"For heaven's sake, driver, send that horse along; 
he's simply crawling." 

"He's striving 'ard, governor," came back the reply, 
"but he's no sprinter at his best. I'll get you to the 
Carleton, never fear." 

By this time I was frantic. I opened the door and 
stood on the step disregarding the rain and shouted : — 

"You fool, I'm not going to a funeral." 

"Nor me to no bloomin' fire, neither," replied the 
cabby cheerfully! 




Chapter XXXVII 

A GILDED FOOL AND OTHER PLAYS 

N looking about for an author capable of 
writing me a play wherein I could en- 
deavor to exploit comedy and pathos I 
met with much opposition until I finally 
ran across Henry Guy Carlton. Carlton 
was living in Boston, financially on his 
uppers. He had just indulged in the dissipation of 
writing two tragedies, "Memnon" and "The Lion's 
Mouth" and when I approached him with this idea of 
mine he quite agreed with me. 

I invited him to be my guest for a few weeks and 
during that time we evolved the plot of "A Gilded Fool." 
I produced it that spring at the Providence Opera House 
with a carefully selected cast, including Clarence Holt, 
Theodore Babcock, Arthur Hoops, Louis Barrett, John 
Brown, Robert Wilson, Mabel Amber, Minnie Dupree, 
Estelle Mortimer and Jeane Claire Walters. Five of 
this cast have joined the vast majority. 

We spent but little time in preparation and after only 
three weeks' rehearsals produced it at the Providence 
Opera House. I was not particularly hopeful as to the 
result. In fact a few days before its production I be- 
came somewhat depressed and sent for my dear old 
mother to run down from Boston to join me. I needed 
her consoling words, to hear her tell me once more 
what a great actor I was. She "always knew" I was 
"a genius." Of course the dear old lady came and 
after witnessing one rehearsal pronounced it "absolutely 
perfect." 

168 



A GILDED FOOL AND OTHER PLAYS 169 

At the last rehearsal I became very pessimistic. We 
rehearsed from ten in the morning until four in the 
afternoon and then we hadn't reached the last act, so 
I dismissed the rehearsal, mother and I went to dinner, 
which was followed by a short siesta. I went, to sleep 
predicting all sorts of failure. 

Before going to the theatre that night my old dad 
came down. He had witnessed one rehearsal a few 
days before and gone home disgusted. We both pre- 
dicted defeat. I really could see nothing in my part. 
He shared this opinion with me. (I regret to say he 
never thought me great in anything. There you have 
a discerning old gentleman!) 

Night came and much to my surprise my first line 
provoked great laughter. As it had some reference to 
drink perhaps that was the cause! It always seems to 
appeal to an audience! Each scene seemed to go better 
than the preceding one and when we got to the poor, 
despised and neglected last act it proved to be the most 
agreeable one of the lot. That night we knew that we 
had a success. 

Charles Frohman who came out from New York to 
witness the production said, "You have made a great 
hit to-night, Nat, and I only wish that John Drew, 
whom I contemplate starring next year, had so good 
a vehicle." 

The following year John began his starring tour with 
a play equally as strong, by the same author, called 
"The Butterflies.' ' In this play Maude Adams sprang 
into fame. 

"The Fool" made a great metropolitan success and I 
still play it in repertoire. 

Carlton was a most amusing and unique man, al- 
though a bit uncomfortable to associate with. He was 
cursed with an awful impediment, a stammer. With 
a keen sense of humor and an unusual amount of funny 



170 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

stories at his command, his ability to lampoon you made 
an afternoon spent in his society somewhat trying. He 
was fully cognizant of his infirmity, but seemed to revel 
in it and in the discomfiture it caused his friends. One 
day he called me up over the 'phone and after vainly 
endeavoring to say "Hello" took one long breath (he 
generally spoke inhaling and coughing his sentences, 
reminding you of a person endeavoring to speak through 
a thunderstorm, while on horseback, jumping hurdles) 
and, after a paroxysm, said, "Nat, have you half an 
hour to spare?" I replied, "Yes." He coughed his 
reply back through the instrument, "Well, if you have 
half an hour to spare, I want five minutes conversation 
with you!" 

I once complimented him upon some medals which he 
wore. They bore inscriptions for bravery displayed in 
an Indian war. He said he was never entitled to receive 
them. "Why not?" I asked. 

"Well," he answered, "I was leading some troops 
down a ravine when we were suddenly surrounded by 
the Indians, lying in ambush. I was frightened stiff 
and tried to give the order to retreat. For the life of 
me I couldn't say it. All I could get out of my throat 
was 'Charge! charge! charge!' and the more terrified I 
became the louder became the commands! The result 
was we turned defeat into a victory and I became a 
hero!" 

When I was firmly convinced that I had put the 
pathos of "A Gilded Fool" over I at once looked about 
to secure a play where the comedy was subordinate to 
the pathos, as I was determined to launch an ultra-serious 
play — not that the latter is more difficult; on the con- 
trary, I consider that it is harder to make people laugh 
than to cry (when the humor is applied legitimately) — 
but the old precept of Cazauran was forever singing in 
my ears: — "Remember, no one remembers a laugh." 



A GILDED FOOL AND OTHER PLAYS 171 

I was determined to obliterate if possible the memories 
of my preceding laughter epoch. 

I imparted my views to Augustus Thomas who had 
just successfully produced "Alabama" and he fell in 
with my ideas. We at once arranged the terms for an 
original play. 

The following June I met Maurice Barrymore who 
told me that he had just come from the reading of my 
new play by Thomas. I had no idea that the play was 
finished nor what it was about. Thomas had not even 
sent me a scenario for which I was most grateful (I 
hate scenarios; they are always so misleading). I 
asked Barry what he thought about the play. 

"Well, I like it immensely," he said, "but I don't 
know how it will strike you, my boy. It is out of the 
common and most original. All the parts are excep- 
tionally well placed." 

"What kind of a part is mine?" I asked. 

"You play a Missouri Sheriff," he replied. 

"Great Scott!" I thought, as visions of a low-browed, 
black mustached, heavily armed gentleman appeared 
before me. I could see myself coming on and saving 
the heroine, frustrating the plans of the villain and 
arresting everybody at the end of the play. 

Barrymore was most reticent concerning the play and 
non-committal as to what he thought it would yield, or 
how he thought the character would suit me. He 
simply said, "Go and hear Gus read it." 

That evening, a sultry night in June, I called on the 
author, who was just preparing to leave for a holiday 
in the country. The room was in disorder; in fact, 
there was nothing for me to do but sit on a huge Taylor 
trunk. I settled back as best I could as Gus quietly 
unfolded the script. 

I listened intently through the first act and was spell- 
bound. At the end of every act I simply said, "Go 



172 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

on," and at the finish, "When do we produce that 
play?" I wished it were the next day. "I am ready 
whenever you are," he answered. "We got together in 
a few days and selected one of the best casts with which 
it has ever been my good fortune to be associated, in- 
cluding Jeane Claire Walters, Minnie Dupree, Mabel 
Amber, Burr Mcintosh, Frank Carlisle, Neil O'Brien, 
Louis Payne (now the husband of Mrs. Leslie Carter), 
Arthur Hoops, Louis Barrett and Robert Wilson. 

We produced it at Hooley's Theatre, Chicago, in 
September, 1893, an< ^ I added one more success to my 
list and pegged another pin in my crib board of pathos 
as "In Mizzoura" was born. 

The simple little sheriff Jim Radburn I adored. He 
was so true, so lovable, so honest! I never have grown 
weary of Little Jim. I have seen two or three actors 
play him, but — whisper — I really like my performance 
the best! 

The rehearsals of " In Mizzoura" were replete with inci- 
dent. It was the first time that I had placed myself in 
absolute charge of a stage manager and it proved a 
most delightful experience for one who had always borne 
the weight of a production to become an automaton, 
moved here and there under the guidance of Thomas 
who proved an excellent stage director. My! How we 
all put our shoulders to the wheel after Thomas had 
made clear the many hidden meanings that were not 
apparent at the reading! The play as read did not 
appeal to many of the company. Some even condoled 
with me. But I knew we were right and we went ahead. 
We called the company together on a Thursday, the 
opening being set a week from the following Monday. 
We rehearsed the entire play Friday, called the first act 
perfect Saturday, two acts perfect Monday and the 
entire play perfect Tuesday, when everyone came dead- 
letter-perfect, as it is called. Thomas in the meantime 



A GILDED FOOL AND OTHER PLAYS 173 

had written in two new scenes. After the opening we 
never called a rehearsal during the entire season. 
h We played to capacity business for four weeks, then 
foolishly went to New York, opening at the Fifth 
Avenue Theatre, where the play failed to draw. It 
received splendid praise, particularly in the magazines. 
Even the daily papers praised the play, but condemned 
my daring to rob them of their little funny man. I 
am sure, however, that I pleased the few who were 
courageous enough to come and have a cry with me. 
The play met with unqualified success throughout the 
country, with the exception of New York and San 
Francisco, the latter city condemning both the play and 
yours truly. The press was most severe, with the single 
exception of that gifted critic, Ashton Stevens, who had 
the courage of his convictions and whose praise of both 
play and star was as sweeping as the others' roasts were 
severe. 

"In Mizzoura" was the only hit of my disastrous 
Australian tour. 

I consider "In Mizzoura" one of the greatest of 
American plays. 

!r It has inspired many authors, particularly David 
Belasco, author of "The Girl of the Golden West." 

Wilton Lackaye met Sydney Rosenfeld, the author, 
on the grounds at the Chicago World's Fair. Lackaye 
said, "Where are you going to-night, Sydney?" Sydney 
replied, "I'm going to Thomas' opening, at Hooley's." 
Lackaye said, "Well, I'll see you there as I'm going to 
Nat's opening." 

How clannish we actors and authors are! 

During one of the rehearsals of "Mizzoura," Burr 
Mcintosh and I had a scene that sadly bothered poor 
Burr. He fancied that he must be a trifle more pathetic 
than I. His speeches should have been given in a sim- 
ple, matter-of-fact manner, but as I used a low tone 



174 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

Burr would go me one better until we were both down 
in the sub-cellar of the drama! We went over the scene 
many times but, try as he might, Mcintosh failed to 
understand the meaning or motive of the scene. Thomas 
would go over the scene with me and place Burr in 
front to watch it to endeavor to make him comprehend 
the author's meaning. Then Burr would try and try, 
always forcing me to the basement. Finally, after 
hours of rehearsing this scene, Thomas said, "Burr, 
stop. The trouble is you're thinking when I wrote this 
part I had you in my mind. I did — but I wrote it for 
your feet, not your head." 

After "A Gilded Fool" was launched I at once made 
a contract with Carlton for another play and in a few 
weeks he submitted a scenario to me which I accepted. 
This play was to follow "In Mizzoura." During the 
interim between "A Gilded Fool" and "In Mizzoura" 
Carlton wholly evolved the plot of " Ambition." In time 
he submitted two acts. I was more than pleased a? 
the character of Senator Beck appealed to me. It had 
a fine story and all the parts were unique and full of 
character. After receiving the two acts I looked about 
for adequate people for the roles and was fortunate 
enough to secure the services of Annie Russell, Henry 
Bergman and Clarence Montaine and with the other 
members of my company, I considered it a perfect cast. 
Later I was fortunate enough to be surrounded by such 
players as George Fawcett, Louis Payne, John Saville, 
Estelle Mortimer and Jeane Claire Walters. 

I arranged to open my season early in September at 
Miner's Fifth Avenue Theatre, New York, and called 
my company for rehearsals of "David Garrick." I was 
anxious to appear in that role in New York, having 
previously performed it on the road with some degree of 
success. My idea was to put on " Garrick " for one week 
and follow with " Ambition." I still had only two acts 



A GILDED FOOL AND OTHER PLAYS 175 

of the Carlton play. I had been trying for weeks to 
get possession of the last act, having some anxiety as to 
how Carlton intended ending the play, but it was im- 
possible to locate him. 

He turned up on the first night of " Gamete," promis- 
ing me my last act of " Ambition' ' on the following day, 
assuring me it was finished. I waited until Wednesday, 
but he failed to keep his word. I knew he was unre- 
liable, but never thought him ungrateful. Through his 
negligence we were forced to announce "Garrick" for a 
second week. This was asking the public to accept a 
pretty tall order, but there was no alternative. One 
Friday, too late for rehearsal, I took it home with me 
and read it most carefully and was very much disap- 
pointed. It plainly showed the earmarks of hasty 
composition. However, there was no choice and I 
produced it as quickly as possible. 

On the first night we were all extremely nervous and 
up to the ending of the second act I thought we had a 
failure. That ending, however, gave me a splendid 
moment and I received several curtain calls. The 
papers were very kind on the following morning, more 
so, I considered, than we deserved. I played it two 
weeks to gradually decreasing business, the last week 
being simply ghastly! 

I honestly believe that I could have drawn more 
money alone, with a desk and a glass of water. I had 
no faith in the play and after the first performance 
began rehearsals of another called "A House of Cards" 
by Sydney Rosenfeld. Previously I had sent it into the 
discard after three rehearsals. It proved worthy of its 
title and tumbled down shortly after at the Garden 
Theatre. 

The manager of a Philadelphia theatre, where I was 
to open after the engagement at the Fifth Avenue, came 
over and saw our performance of "Ambition" (to a $90 



176 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

house) and entered a most violent objection to my ap- 
pearing at his theatre in that play. I informed him 
that I had nothing which I could substitute and that it 
would take me at least two weeks to prepare any of the 
plays in my repertoire with the exception of "David 
Garrick." There was no alternative; he must accept 
"Ambition" or close his theatre. He concluded to take a 
chance and one of those psychological events which 
shapes the destinies of players took place, 

We opened to nearly twelve hundred dollars — and 
that was the lightest house of the engagement! We 
played to capacity business there and everywhere all 
through that season. It proved to be one of my greatest 
successes. 

I never understood Carlton's failure to furnish the 
play as he had agreed until a few days after I opened in 
Philadelphia I read the announcement of the production 
of a new play of his by a manager who had previously 
refused to give him a hearing. He forgot (!) I had 
lifted him from the streets of Boston, clothed him, 
loaned him money, and taken him to my mother's 
home. He forgot (!) that when he became suddenly ill 
it was my mother who nursed him back to health as if 
he were one of her own children! 

The last time that I saw this gifted but ungrateful 
man was a few years ago at Atlantic City. He was a 
physical wreck, but mentally a giant still. He had 
invented some new electric appliance and his mind scin- 
tillated as I had never known it to scintillate before. I 
knew he was doomed and felt grieved. I left his 
chamber with a heavy heart. 

Since writing this poor Carlton has joined the 
majority. 



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Reserved Balcony Chairs, • - . 

Balcony Admission Tickets, 

Gallery Tickets, ............ 

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Ticket Sale for In Mizzoura 




Chapter XXXVIII 

GEORGE M. COHAN 

HAT an extraordinary person is sunny- 
George Cohan! 

Fancy a young man, in the early 
thirties, owning his own playhouse, per- 
forming there in the leading roles, the 
author of his play and lyrics, the com- 
poser of the music, associate manager of two New York 
theatres, of another in Chicago, and with a chain of 
suburban houses! 

This is making history with a vengeance. The posi- 
tion he occupies in the theatrical world has never been 
duplicated and I doubt if it ever will be. With all his 
well-deserved success he bears himself with the modesty 
of a well-bred boy. To be privileged to meet him in 
private life is a joy and delight. You will find him 
never obtrusive and always gentle and respectful to his 
elders. One would never imagine him a being of so 
much power. He fascinates me every time I meet him 
and I always feel an inclination to put my hands upon 
his shoulders and just listen to him talk. His keen 
sense of humor, combined with his calm demeanor, 
always appeals to me. 

How proud his parents must feel to be the authors of 
such a fascinating book as Georgie Cohan! (I always 
call him Georgie. I can't help it. I love the lad for 
his wonderful versatility.) 

How I enjoy the attempts of some of the critics, in 
their futile efforts to slur this man of success and to 

177 



178 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

destroy the affection the public has for him ! Some even 
accuse him of being "common." Good! Bring on 
some more commoners! We need them! 

But nature is most discerning in bestowing her mantle 
of genius. She weaves carefully and adroitly and is 
conservative with her gifts. She wove her finest for 
clever Georgie and then destroyed the pattern. She 
has no more to give. 

Mr. and Mrs. Cohan, I congratulate you! You have 
given the world a genius! 

Hats off to Georgie Cohan! 

It was while I was appearing at Ford's Theatre in 
Baltimore in 191 1 that Georgie sent me a message which 
read as follows : — 

"I am giving a supper in your honor next Wednesday night at 
Friars Club House. Wire me that you will be there." 

Immediately I replied. This is what I wrote: — 

"I am there now, my dear Hector, and will eat nothing until I 
meet you Wednesday at the Friars Club House. Have invited 
my audience to join me. He seems an awfully nice chap. Wish- 
ing you a Merry Christmas, but don't you dare wish me one, 
believe me always thine, 

Ralph Goodwin." 

Georgie insisted on addressing me as Mr. Goodwin 
for years after he had reached a star's zenith. When 
I asked him to drop the formality he said he simply 
could not do it. Thereupon I suggested we get around 
it. If he couldn't call me Nat maybe he wouldn't 
stick on Ralph. And I in turn have ever since dubbed 
him Hector — when we meet! 



Hf 



Chapter XXXIX 

THOUGHTS VAUDEVILLE-BORN 

OW miserable are they who live in the 
past, who imagine when the sun sinks 



behind their horizon it will never rise 
again! To be sure, it is not pleasant 
to realize one is retrograding, yet it is 
better to forget the errors of the past, 
realize the advantages of mistakes and benefit by them 
"than, by opposing, end them." 

During a short tour in vaudeville I had many oppor- 
tunities for serious thought, particularly when I visited 
the various cities where I previously had been a con- 
spicuous factor in my profession. As I contemplated 
my name upon the illuminated signs in front of the 
vaudeville theatres I also strolled through the streets 
and gazed at the names emblazoned in front of the 
various legitimate theatres. Many had played in sup- 
port of me. Now they had usurped my place in the 
standard playhouses. I was "in vaudeville!" 

I reflected upon my companion players — the trained 
seals, the amusing monkey, the docile elephant! As I 
wended my way through the sawdust path that led to 
my dressing-room I wondered what my mission on earth 
really was. Then philosophy took possession of me and 
convinced me that we were all performing our respective 
duties in different environments. It was just a case of 
"all hands 'round and change your partners!" 

In vaudeville I was never happy. I was rather self- 
conscious, for when salary day came around I felt as if 

179 



180 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

I were cheating to take the magnificent sum I was re- 
ceiving for my twenty-seven minutes' work twice a day. 
Then again I wondered if dear old Richard Hooley, in 
whose theatre in Chicago I had played successfully for 
twenty years, knew of the evolution that had placed his 
boy, as he always called me, among the pot pourri of 
vaudeville. What would my good friend, Bob Miles of 
Cincinnati, and John Norton of St. Louis, have said had 
they seen my name as a head-liner in those cities where 
I had packed their respective houses? 

As I strolled by the theatres managed by those dear, 
departed friends my truant thoughts, much as I antago- 
nized them, would fly back to the past. Once again I 
would go to the Theatre of Variety in quest of " Five 
Shillings " and visions of a new and successful play for 
the next year or the one after would come with the 
rising sun! When the clouds came to obscure the sky 
of hope I would darken my chamber, bury the past and 
wait for the morrow and accompanying sunshine to 
light my future down the path of middle age. | 

In this precarious profession of ours we must accept 
defeat with courage. It should stir us to higher aims, 
braver deeds, stronger motives, inclinations and honesty 
of purpose. Never give up the fight so long as you have 
the capacity to hit out. 

Even a dying mule always has a kick up his leg. 

If he has his health and mentality any actor under 
seventy has one punch left. 

I simply underwent a course of training in vaudeville, 
conditioning myself for a fight to a finish. I am ready 
at any time during the next ten years to produce a 
play that will appeal to the public. If I fail to secure 
one — back to the ranch and simple life! 

Which will it be? 

I wonder! 




Chapter XL 

JOHN DREW 

HAVE always had a profound respect 
and liking for John Drew's art and I 
have witnessed his performances of 
many varigated roles. True, the man's 
personality always transcends the char- 
acterization, but isn't that true of all 
great actors? Those who talk about Drew being always 
the same in every part are unconsciously paying him 
great homage. 

For the benefit of the younger members of my pro- 
fession I want to state that the most difficult roles to 
play are those that fall to the light comedian. He 
must be naturally human and true, for he is portraying 
the character one meets in every-day life and, to quote 
from one of Boucicault's plays, "The apparatus can't 
lie!" 

Drew has been amusing the American public for about 
thirty-five years, playing himself, I will admit. But 
the man's personality has made him a conspicuous and 
an agreeable player. He has also been the means of 
introducing not a few actresses to the world who have 
become famous. 

Drew is a gentleman, on or off the stage, and while 
many of the play-folk do not consider him a great actor, 
they must admit that John is clean and that his father 
and mother were geniuses, which is something of which 
to be proud. 



181 




Chapter XLI 

"THE RIVALS" REVIVAL 

MBITION, like an early friend, throws 
back the curtain with an eager hand, 
o'er joyed to tell me what I dreamt is 
true." 

It was with happy anticipation that 
I signed a contract with Joseph Brooks 
to appear as one of the supporting cast with Joseph 
Jefferson in an all-star revival of "The Rivals." The tour 
was suggested by a performance in which I had appeared 
for a benefit given to that sterling old player, William 
Couldock, by Mr. Jefferson and a number of other well 
known players, including Henry Miller, William H. 
Crane, Viola Allen and De Wolf Hopper. This perform- 
ance met with so much approval and gave such un- 
qualified satisfaction that the charity bestowed upon 
Couldock suggested a commercial enterprise and the 
business instincts of Charley Jefferson and Joseph 
Brooks suggested a tour that took place the following 
spring. 

We visited all the principal cities, never playing over 
two nights in one place. Business was enormous, the 
management clearing many thousands of dollars during 
the four weeks' tour. We were the recipients of many 
attentions, our time being spent driving, dining, and 
visiting various public institutions and colleges. We 
held impromptu receptions nightly behind the scenes. 

A large table was always spread on the stage laden with 

182 




Dick Golden 

We were pals for many years 



"THE RIVALS" REVIVAL 183 

viands and many distinguished people partook of our 
hospitalities. Our happiest times were spent in the 
private car where we would congregate after the play 
and spend a few hours in anecdote and song. My con- 
tribution was an imitation of dear old Sol Smith Russell 
— a great favorite of Mr. Jefferson's. 

My friend, Fred Stanley, now passed away, always 
proved a delightful companion. He accompanied us on 
the entire trip. I really don't know when Freddie slept 
on that trip. When I inquired how many hours of 
sleep he averaged out of the twenty- four he replied, "I 
don't want to go to bed. When you all retire that 
nigger porter and I swap stories and he is funnier than 
the whole troupe! He has decided to remain awake the 
entire tour and I promised to keep him company." 
And I really believe he did. 

Every man on the trip became very fond of Fred. 
He was a source of great amusement. Poor Fred "went 
the pace" and finally the end came in 1903. We were 
pals for many years. I am the only one of the original 
quartette left — Tony Hart, Dick Golden, Fred Stanley. 
They are all gone and there is none to take their place. 
Only a memory remains, a sweet one and yet how sad! 
Be patient, dear friends, and wait for me! God bless 
you all! 

What a bright and effervescent man was Fred Stan- 
ley ! Among the congratulatory messages that I received 
while playing in Australia, upon the announcement of 
my engagement to Miss Maxine Elliott, was one from 
Fred. It read: — 

" Congratulations, old man. Pick one out for me." 

"Congratulations, old man. Pick one out for me." 

A variety man, with whom I had performed years 
ago, casually remarked to Fred, "Goodwin! Where 
does he come in? I started with him!" 

"Indeed," replied Fred, "somebody must have tied 
you!" 



1 84 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

We closed "The Rivals" tour in one of the New 
England towns, coming direct to New York to attend an 
informal banquet given to me at the Lambs Club by 
some of my friends previous to my departure for Australia 
where I had determined to go for reasons which will be 
explained later. 

My star of destiny was leading me to the other end 
of the world. I sat down to the banquet filled with 
forebodings. It was not the terror of the journey. It 
was a premonition that it was the wrong thing to do, 
but Fate peeped in and said, "Go on!" 

After a night spent in song, readings, speeches, etc., 
the familiar drab dawn suggested that the time for part- 
ing had arrived. The boys followed me to the door and 
as I started down the steps they sang " Auld Lang Syne" 
and I drove off into the day. 







Chapter XLII 

WILTON LACKAYE 

[q]F all the players now members of the 
Lambs Will Lackaye is the most pro- 
nounced. 

I am very fond of him and I think he 
likes me although he has never expressed 
himself particularly in my favor. We 
were never pals, as the word is now applied, but in all 
our friendly contests of badinage we have always en- 
deavored to play fair with one another. 

Lackaye has a splendid brain, but he does not always 
use it kindly. In this he has no hidden motive, but it 
acts quickly and his tongue responds not always pleas- 
antly. His wit savors more of the cynic than the 
humorist. He always assails a citadel, however, never 
a snow fort, and while his quick sallies many times 
provoke pain, as a rule they are given with a knowledge 
that they were well deserved, at least from his point of 
view. What I most admire about Lackaye is his 
honesty of purpose and his unflinching courage. In 
debate he shows no mercy and expects no quarter. 
He has all the instincts of the old school. He believes 
in upholding the dignity of the player and will not 
pander to the ephemeral parasites who have lately 
attached themselves to the fringe of the drama, the 
managers "who present." 

If there were more Lackayes and fewer Cranes the 
actor would soon be in a position to assert his rights 
and maintain them. 

185 



1 86 NAT GOODWINS BOOK 

I love some of Lackaye's remarks, particularly when 
he is annoyed. The last one I heard appealed to me. 
It seems he approached a very conspicuous actor who 
is now at his zenith with a request to join the Lambs in 
their forthcoming gambol on tour. Lackaye suggested 
that it would be quite a novelty for this player to revert 
to one of his old-time specialties and present a short 
monologue as a Baxter Street Jew, which once had made 
this particular actor famous. The actor who was 
packing a New York theatre in a serious role replied : — 

"My dear Will, your request is preposterous! I could 
not possibly consider such an act! It would be suicide 
for me after struggling all these years to make my 
public weep to return to a vulgar monologue and make 
people laugh! Absurd, my boy, absurd! It would be 
fatal!" 

Lackaye contemplated him for a minute, and re- 
marked : — 

"My dear , an onion will make anybody cry, but 

I have yet failed to discover a vegetable that will make 
people laugh." 

Oh! how true this is! And yet people will come out 
of a theatre with swollen lids, expressing their delight at 
being privileged to cry! If they only knew how easy 
is the one and how difficult the other, they would pay 
more attention to the God-gifted one, appreciating the 
comic player who kisses away the tear that flows. 

My opinion of Lackaye's acting is only equaled by his 
of mine. Lackaye has published his through the press. 
I have kept mine to myself. Neither of us is particu- 
larly complimentary. We agree on art with reference 
to ourselves. 

Neither of us can act! 




Chapter XLIII 

"YOUNG" MANSFIELD 

ONCE had a very dear friend, a young 
man of splendid dramatic ability with a 
likable but erratic nature. He is con- 
stantly falling in love. As a rule his 
heart petals fall to those of the opposite 
sex far beneath him intellectually. This 
young man has a most impressive and artistic tempera- 
ment and has absorbed not a little knowledge of his art 
from the masters. 

He has blazoned this superficial knowledge to such 
an extent that he has grown to believe that he is a most 
important and necessary adjunct to his profession. If 
he were possessed of the knowledge he imagines he has 
he would be a genius! 
As it is he is a nuisance! 

He has succeeded in making many enemies by his 
aggressive and argumentative manner in which only a 
genius can indulge. He has never annoyed me for I 
love his spontaneity and his youth. He has emulated 
the acts of several stars and, like the aspiring pugilist 
who is ever ready to assume the name of a champion 
older in experience, such as "Young" Corbett or 
"Young" Fitzsimmons, he delights in being known as 
" Young" Mansfield. He has some charm and is most 
convincing to those who are not conversant with his 
methods. 

He has succeeded in interesting several conspicuous 
people — millionaires and prominent theatrical and oper- 

187 



1 88 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

atic stars, including a prima donna known to fame. 
The latter became interested in him to such an extent 
that an amour sprang up and they disappeared for a 
time (that is they imagined they had, but delightful 
Paris, which always treats such vagaries as they deserve, 
was fully cognizant of the situation, looked on and 
smiled). 

I was ignorant of their rendezvous. I never imagined 
that the lady whom he had mentioned to me as being 
mildly interested in him was in the same country until 
one day during a visit to a nerve specialist, to whom 
this young man had recommended me, the man of 
medicine remarked : — 

"I was at the Opera last night and bowed to your 

young friend but he failed to acknowledge the 

salutation. He concealed himself behind the curtains 
of the box he was occupying, evidently not seeking 
recognition. That was unnecessary as I am on the 
board of directors at the Grand Opera House and sent 

the box to Madam whose guest your young 

friend was. Why should he disguise the fact that he 
was her friend?" 

"Is that known in Paris?" I gasped. 

" Certainly/ ' he answered. 

"And does it not affect the lady's social and pro- 
fessional standing?" I queried. 

"My friend," replied the doctor, "we love artists; 
we question not the motives that make them artists, be 
it illicit love or sanctioned. It's all the same; they are 
creatures of caprice and have many nests." 

"Does that apply to private life in Paris?" I asked. 

"Certainly," quoth the Philosopher of Nerves. 
"Why, it is most difficult to give a dinner party these 
days. One cannot invite the husband without first 
ascertaining the name of his affinity, nor the wife 
without knowing the name of her sweetheart. My 



"YOUNG" MANSFIELD 189 

wife always arranges the table to avoid awkward 
complications.' ' 

I thought how delightfully naive and completely 
perfect was their understanding. That splendid point 
of view was unlike the ostrich methods in vogue in 
London and insular New York. 

No wonder my young friend and his prima donna met 
with disaster when they crossed the Channel! 

But I admire him and his audacity. 




Chapter XLIV 

DAVID WARFIELD 

ANY years ago while I was playing at 
the Bush Street Theatre, San Francisco, 
a lad of about twenty, of Hebraic 
appearance, was constantly seated on 
the left-hand aisle watching each per- 
formance with evident delight. As I 
would come from the theatre he would follow me, on 
the other side of the street, now and then stopping to 
point me out to some boy friend. 

One day I smiled at him and his face beamed with 
apparent pleasure. After that I often watched for my 
silent admirer. 

Many years after I backed an enterprise in which he 
was featured — and lost ten thousand dollars ! Later 
he became a leading fixture at Weber and Fields' Music 
Hall and made a pronounced success. 

During my second engagement at the Knickerbocker 
Theatre he was always a visitor. He no longer sat on 
the aisle, however. I always sent him a private box. 
My youthful admirer who had blossomed forth as a 
star in the Weber and Fields' aggregation is now one of 
the most famous of American actors. His name is 
David Warfield. 

After witnessing Warfield's great portrayal in "The 
Music Master" I began to believe in the star of destiny. 
I saw a man give a performance worthy of a master. 
And he was without even the fundamental knowledge 

of his art! 

190 



DAVID WARFIELD 191 

Springing from obscure parents, with not an ounce of 
hereditary theatrical blood in his veins, naturally reti- 
cent, with a face not particularly attractive, save for a 
searching and penetrating eye, a mind alert, a shuffling 
gait — this is the man who on the stage is able to trans- 
form himself into one of the most sympathetic beings 
that I ever saw. 

With a move of the hand he is grace itself. His 
delivery of lines bespeaks him a scholar. His face shines 
like one sent from the Deity! 

The various emotions through which he passed in the 
sweetly harrowing (but inferior!) play, from gay to 
grave, from pathos to comedy and from that to tragedy, 
were expressed with a deftness and surety of touch — 
why, he sailed along with the assurance of a bird in its 
flight! Every effect he handled like a master! And 
when he made his exit up the miserable staircase, you 
realized that you had been entertained by an artist! 

It is a pleasure to write about such a man, particu- 
larly one who wears the wreath of laurel so modestly, 
who apparently realizes so fully the kindness of the gods! 
And the gods help only those who help themselves. 

Dear David, you deserve all that has been bestowed! 
Friend, I congratulate you, am proud to know you and 
feel privileged to call you by that much abused name. 



Chapter XLV 
A DAY AT RENO 



gnpf 




pigU 

■ifi 



MAGINE over sixteen thousand human 
beings filing slowly from a cemetery 
where departed heroes have been put 
away from earthly cares! Imagine their 
conversation in hushed whispers, their 
bowed heads, smothered ejaculations! 
Hear the mumbled accusations emanating from a few of 
the unpleasant! So you will have a faint idea of the 
feelings of that motley, silent crowd which wended its 
way home after the Johnson-Jeffries contest at Reno, 
July 4, 1910. 

When that human statue sank into obscurity through 
the center ropes, half of the huge bulk hanging listlessly 
on the outside, with the little Spartan, Abe Attell, 
vainly endeavoring to push the great wreck back into 
the arena (while the magnificent grinning piece of ebony 
was standing with clenched fists and wicked expression 
ready to administer the quietus that was within his 
power), a hush fell upon the assemblage. 

All turned their heads as the inanimate fighter showed 
signs of returning consciousness. The ponderous Jeff 
with the aid of Attell and others slowly unwound him- 
self from the meshes of rope and regained his equilib- 
rium, only to be crushed again to the boards by the 
powerful fists of his adversary. Then a smothered cry 
from the spectators and all was over. The mangled 
gladiator was carried bleeding and bruised to his corner 
and another champion was heralded throughout the 

world. 

192 



_ 



A DAY AT RENO 193 

I have never witnessed such a spectacle. What a 
hollow victory! What a disgraceful defeat! It was a 
defeat without pity, success without compliment! And 
yet it was a battle fought by two of the most magnifi- 
cent specimens of humanity ever chiseled by nature's 
journeymen! 

At the beginning they were magnificent — from the 
throat down! Their faces were not in harmony with 
their bodies. As each of these warriors stood in his 
corner ready for the fray I looked from one to the other 
and as my eye travelled from their feet to their heads I 
was dumbfounded at what their faces depicted. 

Both had the expression of the craven ! On each was 
the apprehension of impending danger accurately de- 
fined; alarm, dread, terror were imprinted indelibly 
upon each countenance, the negro trying to force saliva 
into a mouth as dry as an oven, endeavoring to smile 
while his jaws worked like the jaws of a hyena. Poor 
Jeff stood up, but only for a second. His ponderous 
legs refused to bear his weight of worry! They trembled 
so perceptibly that he was forced to seek his chair when 
his knees began to knock against each other in angry 
protests at what they were expected to perform. 

It was past belief — strong men, equally capable of 
performing any feat of physical prowess, whose brains 
refused to obey their wills! Each knew his terrible 
responsibility, but the gray matter refused to supply 
the necessary oil to put the engines to work. Millions 
were waiting to hear the result. 

I don't accuse either of abject cowardice. I believe 
that at that moment Jeffries would have faced a cannon 
and awaited the result as befits a soldier in battle. His 
trouble was that he was not the man of brain who could 
assume a responsibility. 

Grant sacrificed thousands of men to attain a result. 
He would willingly have given his life if necessary a 



194 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

thousand times, but he was man enough to live for a 
cause, not die for it! Jeff, having a little more brain 
than his aboriginal antagonist, suffered more, hence his 
greater terror. 

As the bell rang for the commencement of hostilities 
Jeffries, instead of rushing at his dusky opponent, 
assumed a defensive attitude, disobeying all instruc- 
tions, all thought-out intentions. He had planned his 
battle as every general does, the night before, but in 
the ring he threw away all his plans and obeyed the 
dictation of a puny, tired, unresponsive brain. With 
every step he retreated the negro's courage gained and 
as the round progressed his assurance became more 
manifest. Confidence took the place of fear and as 
the bell rang to signify the end of the round victory 
shone in the negro's face and the knell of defeat had 
sounded for Jeff. 

The king was dying, but not the death of a coura- 
geous man. He was dying, retreating, not advancing. 
The body was willing, but the brain was dead. Re- 
sponsibility was the referee that counted out Jeff! 
That is the truth of this, the greatest and yet the 
weakest battle ever fought. 

Let us draw a curtain over the Reno desert and be 
charitable to Jeff. God gave him brawn, but denied 
him the necessary brain to equalize it all. 

Perhaps it's all for the best. There's a cloud on the 
horizon of Fistiana. Perhaps a bright young American 
may burst through, the sun may shine once more and a 
white American, impervious to mental collapse, may 
wear the laurel of champion. 

Let us hope so. 

I had taken a party of friends from New York to see 
the fight. We had travelled in a private car — and the 
return trip had been paid for in advance! As we left 
the arena and headed back to town not one of us, 



A DAY AT RENO 195 

hardened sports as we all were, not one of us remem- 
bered that we had a fleet of automobiles waiting to take 
us to our car. We walked right by them! It was the 
longest, hottest, dustiest tramp I ever took. 

Arrived in the car someone broke the silence with the 
suggestion that the first man who referred to the fight 
be thrown off the car. Our silence gave assent. As 
there was nothing else in the world to talk about — we 
kept still, how long I don't know, but it seemed hours. 

Finally big George Considine realized his throat was 
parched and he pushed a button. Up to that moment 
the summons had never failed to produce our grinning 
porter from the little buffet instantly. This time there 
was no response. George pressed the button a second 
time. We all heard the bell distinctly. All of us had 
his gaze fixed on the buffet door. Again George rang 
the bell and this time he kept his thumb jammed 
against the button. Then he got to his feet and de- 
clared himself. 

"If that nigger is in that buffet he'll never come out 
now — alive!" And with that he started. 

We all sat tight and waited. In less than a minute 
George reappeared — laughing hysterically. For an in- 
stant I thought the terrible shock of the afternoon had 
affected his mind. 

"Is he dead?" someone gasped. 

"Nearly so," replied George, choking with glee. "You 
know I went in there firmly determined to kill him. 
But the minute he saw me he covered his face with 
both hands and said, 'Fo' Gawd's sake, Mr. Gawge, 
don' hit me. I'm good for nothin'. I caint lift a glass, 
let alone serve a drink. I'm so weak.' I asked him 
why. 'Well, you see, Mr. Gawge, I've been savin' 
and savin' fo' a year evah dollah I could scrap together; 
borrowed from my wife and soaked my watch at 
Chicawgo. I had six hunderd dollahs on my pusson 



196 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

when I got heah and it was all goin' on Mr. Johnson. 
But on this trip, Iistenin' to all you gemmen talk I got 
so I couldn't see Mr. Johnson nohow and switched and 
my money all went on Mr. JefFies. When Mr. JefFies 
received that awful wallop in the second round I said 
goodbye, wife and chillen, and when he was knocked 
out — I went with him! And I haven't come to yet!" 

We finally managed to induce him to come out of the 
buffet and told him we'd try to make him a little less 
miserable by chipping in on a purse for him. Some- 
body passed the hat. I threw in all I had in cash and 
I imagine every one else did. The total count was 
$51.25! 

I thought we ought to cheer him up further and told 
him I would give him a good thing on the next fight. 
He just looked at me a minute, his black eyes nearly 
popping out of his head, then indicating the bills and 
silver in his hand said solemnly, "Me? ME, bet on a 
prize fight? Why guv'nor, I wouldn't bet this money 
that Mr. Johnson has licked Mr. JefFies." 



.. . - -- ■- 




Chapter XLVI 

LILLIAN RUSSELL 

HAT a beautiful and misunderstood wo- 
man is Lillian Russell! 

One reads only of her wondrous 
beauty, her splendid preservation and 
her marriages — seldom of her talents ! 
Possessing the soul of a saint, the 
true spirit of comedy, the repose of a Siddons, she must 
see all these splendid gifts made subservient to vulgar 
allusions regarding her private life, all cruel and abso- 
lutely false! 

All through life she has endeavored to obtain only a 
home to enable her to bring her child up an honest 
woman. She has tried only to make her hand strong 
enough to keep and guide her. And these efforts have 
been as futile as her success as an artiste has been 
assured. Who shall say it is not the fault of those who 
have pointed the finger of scorn at a woman seeking only 
to do right? 

Lillian Russell is first and always an artiste; honest 
to those who can appreciate trust and fidelity; never a 
knocker; the fairest actress and singer that ever shared 
applause with a brother or sister artist; without a 
desire to dissipate; a true companion and possessor of 
all the attributes that make a true woman. 
Miss Russell, I kiss your hand. 



197 



Chapter XLVII 
DRAMATIC SCHOOLS 




|j^S===g^| ALWAYS lacked the moral courage to 
IrJir :h ask any member of my organization to 

resign, no matter what provocation I 
might have. In my entire experience 
I have discharged two actors — both 
actresses ! 

One of these was hardly more than a girl, most in- 
telligent and rather pretty, who was sent to me highly 
recommended and said to possess marked histrionic 
abilities. She had appeared successfully in amateur 
performances of Shakespearean roles and taken first 
prize at one of the modern schools of acting. 

I cast her for a very minor role in one of my plays. 
In one scene where she had to criticize a picture of a 
celebrated artist in a speech of about fifteen lines (which 
required an intelligent rendering and a delivery which 
demanded at least elocutionary ability) she floundered 
about in a most incoherent and jumbling manner. 
And when she came to the particular speech for which 
I was sure she was qualified, the amateur Juliet fell, 
balcony and all! 

I never saw such an exemplification of incapacity! 
It was a verification of what I have always felt regard- 
ing "schools of acting.' y There have been a few, a very 
few, graduates of the supposed academies of acting who 
have made successes on the legitimate stage. But it 
was brought about only by discarding the methods of 
these bunco professors, who dare to teach an art of 
which they know not. 

198 



DRAMATIC SCHOOLS 199 

The so-called professors of these schools as a rule have 
had their fundamental knowledge of the theatre only 
through books, and if an actor hangs out his sign you 
will find that his career has spelt failure or that he has 
become so pedantic that all theories of modern acting 
have been swept past his horizon. 

I maintain that acting, if it can be taught at all, 
should be taught by an actor. Elocution and emphasis 
can be taught by a plumber or a gunman with the 
requisite authorities at hand. But even when those 
qualities are mastered they belong to the rostrum, not 
to the playhouse. 

Acting is elementary and can be taught only by sug- 
gestion. Emotions can be transmitted only through 
psychological channels and facial expression. They 
cannot be taught. They are absorbed by those born 
with the talent for acting. Unless one is blessed with 
this talent all the professors of elocution or so-called 
"teachers of dramatic art" cannot make an actor or 
actress. 

Granting that once in a while a budding genius has 
blossomed forth from one of these academies it is the 
exception that proves the rule. And even those who 
have graduated find it difficult to unlearn all that they 
have been taught. A school of acting, properly organ- 
ized, would do no harm, but the student should be given 
his little speech to speak, then directed as to what not 
to do and the process of elimination continued until 
such times as he becomes at least an intelligent inter- 
preter of what he is supposed to perform. For all of the 
arts acting most requires practical demonstration. And 
that can be taught only by professional tutors. 

And how few are qualified to teach! One may have 
the power to portray without the ability to impart. 
That is why the stage manager is in such demand. 
So much more is demanded of the actor and actress 



200 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

than the mere delivery of lines. It would take many 
pages to illustrate what I mean, but as a rule in all these 
schools that dot the country very little attention is 
given to the technique of stagecraft. It is always lines, 
lines, lines, emphasis, intonation, etc. The system of 
Delsarte which devotes most time to the manner of 
making an entrance or an exit is of little value for 
fitting a student for the stage. 

There are a few dramatic schools in Europe. In 
France they have the conservatories, the professors of 
which have either graduated from the Theatre Fran- 
caise or are men of letters, qualified to teach. They are 
subsidized by the government and no one is allowed a 
course of learning unless he passes a rigid examination. 
If the ambitious show no qualifications they are not 
admitted. In this country they come from Haber- 
dashers' County, the salesroom or bankers' homes. It 
is only a question of money. If they have the necessary 
wherewithal it's an open sesame. I maintain that it is 
all wrong and the "professors" who are opening the 
doors of dramatic art to the incompetent at so much a 
quarter are obtaining money under false pretenses. 




In Mizzoura 

One of the greatest of American plays 




Chapter XLVIII 

NUMBER THREE (ALMOST) 

LONG, long time ago, while I was play- 
ing in Paris (Kentucky!) a party of 
ladies and gentlemen came down from 
Mount Sterling to witness our perform- 
ance thinking they could leave Paris and 
get to Lexington the same evening. 
Unfortunately the railroad had changed its schedule and 
there was no train out until the following morning. 
My private car was waiting for me and I had taken the 
precaution to charter an engine to take me back to 
Lexington after the performance. When I arrived at 
the station I found the party very much disturbed at 
the prospect of having to remain in Paris over night. 

I sent my secretary to them and he placed my car at 
their disposal. He told them that there was a nice 
supper prepared and that they were welcome to what- 
ever the chef could furnish. I would remain in my 
stateroom and not interfere with their party. They 
accepted the invitation, but insisted that I join their 
party which consisted of three men and three women. 

One young lady in particular attracted my attention 
with her radiant beauty. She was a magnificent crea- 
ture, blonde and erect, possessing the complexion given 
only to those living in the Blue Grass country. During 
the journey I had little time to talk with her as one of 
the other young ladies who came from Boston usurped 
all my time discussing - the drama and other topics 
equally uninteresting to me. 

201 



202 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

The beautiful blonde lady told the manager of the 
theatre at Lexington (he was a friend of hers, as well as 
of mine) that she considered me a very dull person. 
The manager defended me as best he could and told her 
that I was to dine with his family that night and 
he would be pleased to have her do likewise. She 
consented and that evening we met and had a jolly 
time. 

I found her most intelligent and so far as my career 
on and off the stage was concerned she was a walking 
encyclopedia. In fact she knew more about my vagaries 
than I did myself, but as we progressed along lines of 
casual conversation I thought that I discovered a little 
scepticism relative to my supposed proclivities for 
wrong-doing. She asked me if I desired any beverage 
and I, trying to display proper gallantry, suggested the 
cool and refreshing draught, the wine of the country, 
Kentucky Bourbon. 

As she poured out a small glass of the liquor she 
remarked, "I really thought that you were going to ask 
for a glass of methegIin. ,, 

"I have been drinking the ingredients which form that 
compound the entire evening," I replied. 

She looked at me very intently as I swallowed the 
whiskey, then suddenly wheeled about and with a half 
hysterical note in her voice, said, "I don't believe it!" 

Not having the remotest idea as to what she had 
reference I answered, "No more do I!" 

She then said, "You don't understand!" I gasped, 
"Quite right!" She gently took my hand in hers and 
in a sweet, sad voice said : — 

"You need a friend. Let me be your little friend. 
I know all about you. For years you have been my 
favorite player and I have read all the uncomplimentary 
articles written about you. Your gambling escapades, 
your supposed capacity for drink, your amours, scandals, 



NUMBER THREE (ALMOST) 203 

in fact everything pertaining to your private life have 
interested me for years. But as I have read and re-read 
these accusations, which I know now to be absolutely 
false, I fail to discover where you had wronged anybody 
but yourself!" 

It was the first time that anyone had spoken to me 
like that, with the exception of my little mother, and 
her words sank 'way down deep into my heart. We 
talked for several hours, in fact, until the dawn ap- 
proached, but we interested each other to such an extent 
that neither was conscious of the departing night until 
we were rudely told by our hostess that our conduct was 
most disreputable and that the best place for me was a 
berth in my private car. During our conversation I had 
tried to convince her that I was pretty bad, but not so 
bad as Joe Jefferson painted. 

After leaving Lexington I corresponded with her for 
some little time. Finally I heard that her parents were 
objecting and I told her that we must discontinue our 
correspondence. She refused to act upon my advice 
and insisted upon communicating with me once or 
twice a week. I answered her letters with the result 
that we became engaged. But my. friend Fate again 
came upon the scene and exercised his authority. 

I left "The Rivals" tour with a heavy heart, for 
several reasons. I had signed a contract for a sixteen 
weeks' tour in Australia. Many wondered why. I sent 
out the rumor that it was to see the country and to 
further my artistic desires. 

The real reason? I was running away from a woman. 

Cowardly? Well, let's reason it out. 

Briefly the young lady from Kentucky and I met 
many times after our first interview and a friendship 
sprang up that soon ripened into love. I saw a way of 
releasing myself from my second marriage. The lady 
who bore my name accepted a large sum of money and 



204 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

allowed me to procede. My plans were all laid. I 
brought suit in a town in lower California. 
, But now a friend of the Kentucky young lady warned 
me against proceeding and met me in Louisville. She 
told me that my fiancee had informed her parents of 
her intentions and they were furious, had entered all 
sorts of protests and threatened even violence. I 
listened very quietly, waiting to learn my fiancee's 
Attitude. She was determined and defiant and meant 
to go through. 

I told her friend that I could readily understand the 
attitude of the young lady's family and endorsed it. 
What did they know of me except through the news- 
papers? I should not care to entrust my daughter or 
sister to the keeping of a man with my unsavory reputa- 
tion. I promised then and there that I would endeavor 
to break the engagement and her friend left very much 
delighted. I took the matter up with the young lady, 
but she refused absolutely to annul the agreement. 
She even threatened to leave her home and join 
me. Of course I soon argued her out of that determi- 
nation. But the most she agreed to was to wait until 
such time as I should be free. 

I had determined upon my course. By various means 
I had fathomed the whole situation. She was the 
favorite daughter of a very large family. Her father, 
passed beyond the eighties, fairly worshipped her. 
Her brother simply idolized her. Was it fair to break 
up this happy home? I could only answer my own 
question negatively. I sent for one of the members of 
the family. He came, unknown to her, and I suggested 
that I go at once to Europe and remain there for a year. 

"That won't do," he said. "She will follow you. 
We can do nothing with her at home; she is a deter- 
mined woman and has made up her mind." 

"While talking I thought of an offer I had received 



NUMBER THREE (ALMOST) 205 

for an Australian tour and excusing myself I went to the 
telegraph office. Presently I came back with a copy of 
a wire to George Musgrove which I had just sent to 
New York. It read: 

"Accept Australian terms. Open June twenty-fifth. If suc- 
cessful will continue to India, South Africa and London." 

"Will that satisfy you and the members of your 
family?" I asked. 

"Come and have a drink!" he replied and over an 
apple toddy informed me that I was a good fellow. 
He took the next train for Lexington leaving me alone 
at the Gait House bar with my thoughts and an apple 
toddy! 

Ahead I saw only a trip of ten thousand miles to an 
unknown country, which I had no desire to visit, and a 
divorce procedure under way that had cost me thousands 
to bring about. I was about to leave friends, family 
and a woman who was sure to loathe my name when 
she heard of my act — and all for what? 

It was simply to appease the transient sorrow of a 
family too selfish to allow their offspring to obey the 
dictates of her own honest heart. They had no thought 
of her anguish, her future and as for me — of what 
matter my end? The profligate could go on his way 
destroying more homes to build one of his own, take a 
journey into other lands in quest of more victims, etc! 

If I had only been more selfish, what a different life 
mine would have been ! Not that I am ashamed of any 
act of my past, but the impressions I have unwittingly 
made would never have been made; my inclinations 
would have been established; my true motives known 
to the world, and children, perhaps, be born to endorse 
my attitude toward mankind! 

Fate said "No," and I began my journey to the 
Antipodes, leaving as a legacy to the Kentucky woman 
— a lie! 



206 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

Fifteen years later we met in New York. We drove 
through Central Park and I told her the truth. When 
I had finished she said nothing; for almost an hour we 
drove in silence. She then turned to me and simply 
replied, "Well Pve waited all these years to prove what 
I thought was true. It is over now and I presume we 
both are happy/' 

Are we? I wonder! 

It was Poe who wrote Annabel Lee: — 

The moon never beams 
Without bringing me dreams 
Of my beautiful Annabel Lee. 

It is a strange world. The young lady married some 
few years ago. I hope she is happy; she deserves to be. 



Chapter XLIX 



THE CONFESSIONAL 

Happy the man, and happy he alone, 

He who can call to-day his own; 

He, who, secure within, can say: 

"Tomorrow, do thy worst, for I have lived to-day!" 

Come fair or foul, or rain or shine, 

The joys I have possessed, in spite of fate, are mine! 

Not Heaven itself upon the past has power, 

But what has been, has been, 

And I have had my hour. — John Dryden 

HAVE — 

been addicted to the use of alcoholic 
stimulants — but always with distin- 
guished and worthy companions; 

deserted home and fireside, always by 
request, bought and dearly paid for; 
lied — to myself — for recreation; 
cheated — the undertaker; 
deceived — only "yours truly;" 

been a reveler — during the day, always too busy at 
night; 

been a gambler — on the green ; 

a rambler — on the nod; 

an actor — on the job; 

a hypocrite? — no, by God! 




The Shubert theatres and Carnegie libraries are 
running a dead heat in an earnest endeavor to perpetu- 
ate their respective names. 

What sublime egotism and how humorous! A race 
between a Scotchman and a Jew! 

207 



208 NAT GOODWINS BOOK 

Now if only a New England Yankee could be per- 
suaded to enter the race I would back him to win! 
He would be sure to erect against every library and 
theatre a soup house in which to feed the inartistic 
hungry — and he would get the money, too. 

I have been accused by many of my reviewers of 
being a casual person, with no reverence for my art; 
a trifler, unreliable, never taking myself seriously. To 
all of which I plead guilty. I am casual ; I never found 
it necessary to plod. I have little reverence for the 
art that has never played fair with me. 

I had to play in London to discover that I was an artist. 

A trifler? Yes — when circumstances compelled me 
to associate with pin-headed critics. 

And why should I take myself seriously when nobody 
else does? 

Mind you, when I say I plead guilty that does not 
signify that I am. Many a man has pleaded guilty to 
save himself from the hangman's noose, being assured 
that by so doing he will receive life imprisonment. If 
after a perusal of the itinerary that I have written in 
this book of thirty-nine years before the public, in 
which I prove that I have run the gamut from an end 
man in a minstrel show to Shy lock in "The Merchant of 
Venice" anyone pronounces me guilty I am willing to 
abide by his verdict. 

But none will deny that I have worked — worked 
hard — and enjoyed it! 

The three saddest events in my life: — 

The burial of my son. 

The death of Eliza Weathersby. 

Inspecting Her Majesty's Theatre, London, with Sir 
Henry Irving under the guidance of Beerbohm Tree* 
then the lessee and manager! 



THE CONFESSIONAL 209 

The three happiest events : — 
The birth of my son. 

The presentation of a loving cup to me by the Lambs 
Club. 

My first performance in "The Merchant of Venice." 

I earnestly beseech my readers, particularly the pro- 
fessional critics to whom I pay my respects later, not 
to misconstrue my motives nor consider any of my 
references as personal. They are simply mild protests 
at the methods employed of featuring my professional 
and private lives, particularly the latter. 

For years I have been misrepresented, at times 
assailed, brutally assaulted. I am not defending any 
real act that has ever been exploited; my principal 
objection is that the real bad in me has never been 
discovered! Only the supposed errors and little idio- 
syncrasies are all they have endeavored to circulate. 

What has been printed is puerile and worthy only of 
contempt. I am really capable of far more devilish 
accomplishments than those with which they have 
credited me, but they are apparent only to my intimate 
friends who know my tremendous capacity for wrong- 
doing! 

Conscious of my alleged proclivities I find supreme 
consolation in knowing a dear old lady living in Boston 
who is proof against the accusations made against me. 
Really she does not believe them. For years I have 
been the recipient twice a week of just such epistles as 
this, my latest love letter: — 

My own darling Son: 

We were both very very happy to get your dear letter this 
morning, yet sorry to hear you are suffering with Sciatica and 
Rheumatism, I do hope the next letter we get, you will be able to 
walk with a Cane; very thankful you are not having but very 
little pain in the back. I know dear that you dont believe in 



210 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

Christian Science yet I feel it is helping us all and if mother is 
happy in that belief, I know you wont mind me writing this to 
you. I've prayed night and day your Back would heal and your 
legs would grow Stronger every day, and I really believe my 
prayers have helped you. now I am going to work hard night 
and day for you to get rid of Sciatica and Rheumatism, and tell 
me in your next letter if you are getting all over your illness, and 
those weak nerves, even if you dont believe in C. S. I've just 
read this to Dad, he says, tell Nat his mother is crazy. Give 
Miss Moreland my fond love and all good wishes for her kindness 
to our darling, God bless her, tell her I often think of her and hope 
I may see her Soon, and tell her how very grateful I am and thank 
her over and over again, dont know what you would have done 
without her, through all your terrible Sufferings. Dad has written 
you all the news which isn't very much. I am able to get around 
and waiting to get Stronger to go out. Dad joins in sending our 
fond love with kisses God bless you may you improve every day 
rapidly, and soon be ready for business and enjoy perfect health 
and great Success in your new part — with all the happiness there 
is, is ever my constant and Silent prayers always for our Darling 
Son. From your ever loving and affectionate mother 

C. R. Goodwin 




Mrs. N. C. Goodwin, Sr. 

A dear old lady living in Boston 



Chapter L 
SAN FRANCISCO 




"Ii 



FTER touring the rural towns in in 
Mizzoura," I opened at the Baldwin 
Theatre, San Francisco, June, 1896. It 
was then that I discovered that San 
I Francisco stands alone among the cities 
of the world. It is indeed a strange 
place. The coolest time of the year and by far the 
pleasantest is during the summer months and yet many 
of the inhabitants go East, to swelter in New York or 
at the hotter sea shores. 

I know of no more delightful city in America during 
June, July and August than San Francisco. But every- 
one who can afford it packs up and leaves! This of 
course has a tendency to affect the business of the 
theatres, particularly the high-priced ones. 

Dear old " Mizzoura ! " How I love the play and my 
character, Jim Radburn! My company, organized for 
Australia, comprised the following people: — William 
IngersoII, Fraser Coulter, Clarence Handysides, Neil 
O'Brien, H. C. Woodthorp, Louis Payne (whom I pre- 
dict will become an excellent character actor some day), 
Arthur Hoops, Blanche Walsh, Estelle Mortimer, Emily 
Melville and the Misses Usner and Browning. The 
play went exceedingly well and it was pronounced a big 
hit. We retired from our labors quite contented for it 
was really a meritorious performance. Barring a little 
nervousness on the part of some of the ladies and 
gentlemen who were new in their characters we gave a 
splendid ensemble. 



212 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

By the way, what an awful thing is this nervousness 
on the first night! The older the artist the more intense 
is the suffering. You, dear public, who sit in silent 
judgment upon the poor player on his initial perform- 
ance, know nothing of the anguish going on behind the 
curtain. You do not see the blanched faces that no 
grease-paint yet invented can conceal nor hear the 
whispered ejaculations of us all, fearful of our finish 
and sick with anxiety for our brothers and sisters in 
art who are experiencing the same torture! Everything 
is forgotten save the result of those awful three or four 
hours. If you only knew what your verdict meant I 
tell you, gentle reader, you would be less harsh in your 
judgment of us. Think of the many, many people who 
are interested in your verdict, the many whose very life 
and sustenance depend upon your words. Think of the 
amount of toil involved in the production of a new play. 

First comes the evolution of a plot. And this is but 
the beginning of the author's work. For him it is toil, 
toil, toil. Then comes his fearful ordeal of reading his 
work to the actor-manager for whom it was written. 
Perhaps his future depends upon it — his destiny ! 

Next comes the selection of the cast to perform the 
work. I regret to state that in this era versatility is 
lacking because of the absence of fine stock companies. 
We actor-managers are forced to select actors and 
actresses who are fitted only physically, mentally (and 
sometimes socially) for the respective roles. This is 
shocking when one considers the art seriously. How- 
ever, such is the case, and we "luxuries" must accept 
the inevitable. 

After the cast has been selected comes another reading 
of the play — another ordeal for the author. Then 
begin the rehearsals which last for many weeks and the 
invention of stage business, a technical term which 
means pantomime, facial expression, gesticulation, every- 



SAN FRANCISCO 213 

thing pertaining to the performance save the speaking 
of lines. This is a very powerful, if not the factor in 
the success of a play. During the long hours of re- 
hearsal one must be on the alert for everything, con- 
stantly changing here and there, putting new lines in, 
cutting others out, changing business (stage managers as 
a rule are most vacillating and unless particularly gifted 
prone to forget to-day what they invented yesterday). 

At the finish we go home and study! It is generally 
midnight before the actor gets this opportunity! He 
studies his lines, say, until four. Then he retires and 
sleeps until about nine, if he can! He must be in the 
theatre for the ten o'clock call to rehearse what he has 
studied at home. I do not believe in studying one's 
part during waits at a rehearsal. Your lines lose their 
value unless you understand the meaning that prompts 
the speaking. Hang around the wings during your 
waits, you young Thespian. Watch the older ones and 
you will absorb more knowledge of your profession in 
one week than in a season of studying during rehearsal. 

After the company is perfect in lines, business, etc., 
the announcement is made for the first night's perform- 
ance. I have not mentioned the mechanical portion of 
the enterprise and I wish that I could skip it, but I 
must not. I am against all realism and mechanism in 
art, but as some of our worthy English cousins have 
inaugurated these so-called attributes I accept them. 

This, gentle reader, is part of what a first night means. 
Think of what we all go through. Think of the many 
anxious hearts that are waiting at home for your ver- 
dict — the mother, brother, sister, sweetheart, wife, 
friend. Think of this, you men-about-town, who, when 
an act is over, confuse it with your bad dinner. Think 
of it, gentle (?) critic, and if you can't speak well of us 
at least be courteous. Think of it, you, who have no 
comprehension beyond the roof gardens of New York! 



214 NA T GOODWIN'S BOOK 

What devastators of art! Think of it, you, who con- 
sider the theatre a place for mere diversion! Think of 
it, you, who never divorce the actor from his character! 
Be kind and patient. So much depends upon you. 
Remember we are doing our best. Don't shatter our 
little houses or our hopes! To do so is so easy! 

But we were speaking of San Francisco! 

From the opening performance of "Mizzoura" the 
manager of the theatre, Mr. Bauvier, was delighted. 
He told my representative that it was a great success 
and said, "Why, by Thursday Goodwin won't be able 
to get them in!" 

He was quite right — I wasn't ! Thursday night a 
tranquil mob avoided the Baldwin Theatre. Rows of 
red plush chairs yawned eloquently. Perhaps yours 
truly was the cause of this. Something was the cause. 
Maybe the transition from broadcloth to homespun 
shocked the San Francisco public! It could not have 
been the play. 

Ruskin classified paintings into three orders and ranks 
least of all those which represent the passions and events 
of ordinary life. Perhaps the enlightened public of San 
Francisco agrees with Ruskin. I don't. I want the 
mirror held up to Nature even though it is bespattered 
with a little wholesome mud. 

Jim Radburn is a little man with red hair. He is 
dramatic, not theatrical. But San Francisco asked, 
"How can a man be a hero and have red hair?" 

The public will never divorce the individual from the 
character portrayed. It has been my great battle for 
years to endeavor to persuade the public to realize that 
it must disassociate the two. Banish the man and 
woman artist you meet in every day life and absorb the 
characters of the parts which they are portraying. 
Then we shall stand side by side in art with any coun- 



SAN FRANCISCO 215 

try. I am very glad to say that I see development 
every day in the right direction, particularly in my own 
little efforts. If I succeed in piercing the tissue that 
separates laughter from tears who is so narrow as to 
grudge me the modest rank I hope to attain in the 
realms of dramatic art? 

This talk of mediocre business in San Francisco recalls 
a story told of the late William Manning, one of the 
cleverest of all Ethiopian comedians. He had arrived 
at the most critical period in his career, poor and in ill 
health. But he procured a backer and took out a 
company of minstrels. The trip proved disastrous and 
they were about to close. But Manning bore his losses 
with great fortitude and humorous philosophy. 

One morning, after a wretched house the previous 
evening, he chanced to run across a professional rival of 
his, but socially a great friend, Billy Emerson. They 
exchanged salutations. Emerson at this time was at 
the zenith of his fame and quite wealthy. It took but a 
few moments for the epigrammatic Manning to acquaint 
the successful African Impresario, Emerson, of his 
financial condition. To quote a Rialto expression, "he 
touched and fetched!" — meaning, he solicited financial 
aid and his request was granted. 

As Manning stalked away, his face wreathed in smiles, 
which actually seemed to reflect their rays on the tall 
silk hat which always adorned the minstrel irrespective 
of his bank account, Emerson called after him, "Say, 
by the way, Bill, where do you play to-night?" Man- 
ning, after feeling in his vest pocket to reassure himself 
that Emerson had really given him $500, replied: 

"Now we play Albany. If I had not met you we 
should have spent the summer here!" "We play there 
two nights after you," said Emerson. "Will you an- 
nounce us to the public from the stage?" "Yes, I will 
— if he stays," replied Manning. 




Chapter LI 

ANTONY (?) AND CLEOPATRA 

|j]AN FRANCISCO visitors must be very 
careful never by any chance to abbre- 
viate and call the city 'Frisco. The 
j inhabitants object most strenuously if 
you take such a liberty. 

We were treated royally in a social 
way in San Francisco. Our performance never received 
such praise, press and public being alike most gracious. 
We were feted, banqueted, ridden, driven, etc. In fact, 
those who knew of our presence made ample amends 
for those who knew not where we were! That small 
part of the public which came to see us seemed aware 
of our loneliness, and endeavored to lighten our heavy 
hearts by hearty manifestations of approval! 

I had the pleasure of being the honored guest at a 
supper given to me by that group of variously gifted 
men who have banded together and call themselves the 
Bohemian Club. What a royal set! How clever! One 
must ever be ready with a quick reply or chaos will 
surely follow. Mr. Peter Robinson of " The Chronicle " 
was the chairman on this occasion and with the assist- 
ance of sixty or seventy gentlemen did much toward 
alleviating the sorrow I naturally felt at leaving my 
country and my friends for the wilds of Australia. 

They presented me with a water-colored caricature of 
myself with the body of a Iamb (the Iamb symbolizing 
the Lambs Club). I was being entertained by a huge 
owl (the symbol of the Bohemian Club). It was a very 

quaint and most artistic picture and I prize it highly. 

216 




/ f'HWYl 



W 










How much a Lamb I was I didn't know — Then! 



ANTONY (?) AND CLEOPATRA 217 

Mr. Tim Frawley, once a member of my company 
and at that time a most successful manager, also was 
most kind and generous to me. He gave me a supper 
at the same club the Tuesday previous to my sailing. 
The table was magnificently arranged. Huge banks of 
sweet peas adorned the center of the table. Inter- 
mingled were variously colored carnations and Cali- 
fornia wild flowers. Toy balloons were suspended. 
They were hung with red tape to which were attached 
little American flags, the whole held in place on the table 
by a delicate bronze anchor suggesting hope (I suppose). 
These decorations shown in a soft red light made a 
picture as perfect as it was harmonious. 

At Mr. Frawley's left sat the stately, majestic, Juno- 
like Maxine Elliott, one of the most beautiful women 
whom I had ever seen, her raven black hair and eyes 
in delightful contrast to the red hues that formed an 
aureole, as it were, above her head. There she sat, 
totally unconscious of the appetites she was destroying, 
absorbing the delicate little compliments paid her by 
that prince of good fellows, John Drew. 

How I chafed at the etiquette which prohibited my 
being at her side! 

Next to her sat the tranquil Herbert Kelcey and the 
dainty piece of bisque, Effie Shannon. Down the line 
sat the radiant and sunny Gladys Wallis, near her the 
gracious and emotional Blanche Bates, farther down the 
sweet and winsome Gertrude Elliott. It was a bevv of 
beauty one rarely sees. 

At my right sat one of the brightest women I have 
ever met and as beautiful as she is talented (a rare 
combination). She had first come to my attention a few 
weeks previous while I was on my way to San Francisco, 
the other members of my company who had been en- 
gaged by my manager, Mr. George B. McCIellan, 
having preceded me. My strenuous tour with the 



218 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

"All Rivals" cast had been too much for me. I think 
I was suffering from fatty degeneration of the art! 
In any event I found my only amusement in the local 
dailies along the line and when the Denver " Post " came 
aboard the train I fairly devoured it. 

On the page devoted to the theatres I was amazed 
to find a roast of Maxine Elliott (whom I had met 
casually three years before). It was written in a most 
artistic manner in excellent English. It was unkind and 
cruel — but clever. Altogether it was one of the most 
scathing denunciations I ever saw in print. It was 
signed Alice Rix. 

She was my dinner companion. I noticed that she 
and Maxine exchanged more than one sharp glance but 
neither one showed any outward signs of having any- 
thing more in common than superficial things. Once 
or twice Maxine even smiled in her direction! Clever 
Maxine, tactful even in her respectable poverty! 

Jimmie Swinnerton, the cartoonist, presented me with 
a quaint drawing of a kangaroo on its hind legs, beaming 
with laughter and bidding me "Welcome to Australia." 
I value this picture very highly — and the autographs 
which were written on it that night. 

Another newspaper man, Ashton Stevens, afforded us 
a treat in the shape of producing music out of a banjo! 
The way he played classical music on that instrument 
was marvelous. This came at the tail end of the even- 
ing and much to my sorrow the party broke up then 
and there — at 3 a. m. 

Thursday, June 25, 1896, marked our start for 
Australia on the good ship Alameda, Captain Van 
Otterendorf commanding. At the pier to bid us bon 
voyage were all those who had been at the supper on 
Tuesday, all of the Frawley company, several personal 
friends and many of my professional brothers and 
sisters who were employed at the various theatres (or 



ANTONY (?) AND CLEOPATRA 219 

were willing to be!). They had prepared a surprise 
which quite unnerved me. They all bade me goodby 
and said all manner of nice things. As one by one they 
grasped my hand and said farewell a great lump jumped 
up into my throat and it would have taken but a slight 
suggestion or urging on anybody's part for me to have 
followed them all back down the gang-plank! I bit 
my lips to keep back the tears. 

For the first time I realized what a bold responsi- 
bility I had assumed in taking a company of players 
ten thousand miles away from home! Besides, I was 
leaving all that was near and dear to me behind. 
"Would we ever meet again?" I wondered. But this 
was no time for pessimism. So I parted from my dear 
friends and determined to accept whatever fate had in 
store for me. 

My depression was soon turned to great joy. The 
boys had chartered a tug, quietly trailed behind us and 
after we had gone out into the bay for about half a 
mile they suddenly appeared on the port side only a 
few feet from us. We could easily talk to one another 
from our respective decks. On the side of the tug 
was suddenly hung a huge canvas on which were 
painted in large, black letters the words, "good luck 
to nat!" 

It made me feel proud and happy, I can tell you! 

They cheered and chattered and we followed suit. 
The little craft kept up with us until the sea and wind 
prohibited their going further. Then, with a pipe from 
the little whistle of the tug, to which the captain of the 
Alameda responded, she turned her bow towards the 
city as we sped silently and swiftly toward the An- 
tipodes. 

My leading lady at this time was Miss Blanche 
Walsh who was engaged only for the Australian tour. 
While contemplating the fair Maxine the evening of the 



220 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

banquet it suddenly struck me what a fine leading 
woman she would be for my organization! Everybody 
told me she was an extremely poor actress, but I made 
up my mind to find out for myself. 

As I looked at her I thought that surely a woman of 
so much charm and beauty who spoke English so purely 
could be taught. 

That evening I went home and told my business 
manager, McCIellan, of my determination. 

"Why, you're crazy!" he shouted. "She's beautiful 
to look at, but she can't act; she hasn't the emotion of 
an oyster! Blanche Bates is playing rings around her 
in Frawley's company! Get Bates if you can, but pass 
up Elliott! Read what the San Francisco papers say 
about her! Go to sleep and in the morning I'll try to 
engage Blanche Bates for you!" 

I only wish I had followed his advice, but Fate was 
peeping over my ramparts! And he caused me to pass 
a very restless night! 

Dressing in my best regalia the next morning I called 
upon Miss Elliott at the Baldwin Hotel. In a few 
moments I was ushered into her presence and quickly 
told her of my purpose. It appeared to appeal to her, 
but there were several barriers in the way. She was 
about to sign with Harry Miner and Joseph Brooks for 
the following season. I soon learned that that part of 
it could be easily arranged as no documents were signed 
nor material secured. Her little sister Gertrude must 
also be looked after. I said I would engage her whole 
family if she so desired. 

As I look back to that little impromptu business talk 
I can see the demure, simple, intelligent Gertrude 
Elliott, whose fawn-like, penetrating eyes and shell-like 
ears drank in every word of our conversation. I recall 
the awe with which she reviewed every act and speech 
of her beautiful sister! 




/^ggg^^ /At ^7w r .^^- ^f ^C^ ^jjgfe/^g 

A A \ ^^HW*ft.(3Uu 

An Australian Greeting Can't Touch its Farewell' 



ANTONY (?) AND CLEOPATRA 221 

Best of all I can realize, irrespective of all the sorrow 
which that interview cost me in after years, that it was 
the cause of presenting to the American and English 
public one of the sweetest actresses that the world has 
ever known and the bringing into the world three of 
the most beautiful children with which a mother was 
ever blessed! Had it not been for that interview Ger- 
trude would never have met Forbes-Robertson, whose 
marriage to Gertrude Elliott has proven a blessing to 
both and caused the sun to shine resplendently when 
focused upon those two loving hearts. 

Fate plays pranks with us all and shifts about to suit 
its pleasure. Why did he concentrate his force upon 
one sister at that interview and demand obedience? 

There were two prizes in that room for me to select. 
As usual I drew the blank! 

It took me but a short time to consummate my 
arrangements and at three o'clock I returned with the 
contracts. One was for $150 and one for $75 a week. 
Thus Maxine and Gertrude Elliott were engaged for 
three years as members of my organization. 

I had seen neither on the stage. I simply took a 
chance, despite all the uncomplimentary expressions I 
had heard regarding their want of abilities, especially 
Maxine's. That night I saw them act and I never was 
more surprised in my life. I saw and heard two women 
with so much culture that they were lost in their en- 
vironment. No attention was paid to their superb 
diction nor to the refinement of their manner. All of it 
was lost upon the insular, low-browed audience to which 
they were playing and of course it was overlooked by 
the management! 

I came home in ecstacy and told McCIellan that I 
had found a gold mine. When I told him of part of 
what I had accomplished he sat bolt upright in bed and 
upbraided me unmercifully, ending with, "You 



222 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

fool! You're going away from one woman only to fall 
in love with another! You haven't a chance, though, 
for she and Frank Worthing are head over heels in love 
with each other!" 

"I don't give a d — n," I replied cheerfully. "I will 
engage him too if he'll come to Australia! He's a fine 
actor!" 

"What?" yelled Mac. "You haven't engaged her 
for Australia, have you?" 

"Sure, Mike," I replied. 

"Well," said he, "I always thought you were crazy; 
now I know it! I'll bet you a thousand dollars that 
neither of them will come!" 

"You're on," I said. "That is, I'll bet you one will 
come. Gertrude gave me her word." 

"Oh go have your head examined," growled Mac as 
he covered his face and rolled over into slumberland, 
leaving me alone. 

And all night long Fate paced up and down outside 
my door in the Palace Hotel plotting my future! 

Had I not made those two engagements the pages of 
history would have been greatly changed. Had the 
little Kentucky family held aloof there would have 
been no Maxine Elliott Theatre in New York; Forbes- 
Robertson would never have met the sweet Gertrude; 
the latter would never have been launched as a star; 
Maxine would not now be a retired actress, rich and 
famous; Clyde Fitch's career would have been post- 
poned and the avenues of my poor life would have been 
broader and less clogged with weeds. 



Chapter LI I 
HONOLULU AND SAMOA 




FTER my friends had left me I gave one 
last longing look at the Cliff House, the 
scene of many happy hours, and wended 
my way to the stateroom which I was 
to occupy for the next four weeks. I 
loathe ocean travel and did not look 
forward to my trip with much pleasure. The company 
came to me after a bit and we passed the afternoon 
planning what we would do to while away the hours of 
the voyage. 

Louis Payne had ingratiated himself with a confiding 
young lady who was on her way to Honolulu to join her 
fiancee. Before 6 p. m. it looked bad for the waiting-to- 
be-bridegroom. Payne was reading her sonnets which 
evidently appealed to her. Neil O'Brien, dear old Neil, 
wrote a poem suggestive of the flirtation. Aside from 
this diversion the first few days were a trifle monotonous 
after the strenuous events of the preceding five weeks. 
But then came a splendid contrast. 

As we entered Honolulu harbor a new colored water 
seemed to greet us. A softer sky than I had ever seen 
hung over the little picturesque city. The sea resembled 
a huge flat sapphire. To the right was a range of de- 
vastated mountains, the remnants of pre-historic days. 
The little city is a veritable paradise and as one rides 
into the country it seems to grow more and more 
beautiful. 

We rode seven miles to the summit of Mt. Pali 
(meaning precipice). We could see about and down for 

223 



224 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

miles. It was a most uncanny sight. The Brocken 
scene in Faust and Yellowstone Park pale into insignifi- 
cance by comparison. Relics of volcanoes, thousands 
and thousands of years old, cliffs, mountains of rocks, 
precipices and barren tracts of land meet you on every 
side, This spot is quite interesting in a historical way. 
For here it was that King Kamehameha came over from 
Oaui and conquered the Hawaiians. Then he depopu- 
lated the island. 

He landed at the entrance to the harbor and drove 
the natives on and on until they reached Mt. Pali. 
Rather than surrender or through fear they jumped 
into the horrible abyss. 

He must have been some fighter. 

We remained at Honolulu about sixteen hours, rode 
all about the town and dined at the Sans Souci, a 
delightful little place about four miles out. Before 
dining we enjoyed a bath in the sea. The temperature 
of the water ranges all the year round from seventy- 
five to eighty. We also enjoyed shooting the rapids, a 
most fascinating sport. You wade and swim out against 
the tide for five hundred yards. A stalwart native 
pushes your tiny canoe in front of him. When you 
arrive at a given point you get into the canoe, head 
toward the shore and the terrific current hurls you back 
to the beach. It is exciting. Very often you are 
pitched into the sea but you don't mind as the water 
is shallow and you are in your bathing suit. 

When I look back on Honolulu after all these years I 
know it is one of the most glorious spots on earth; 
but had I penned these lines on the ground I'm afraid 
Td have been less complimentary. Not that the harbor 
and landscape were not wondrous in their beauty in 
every direction as far as one could see, but — before we 
ever reached our hotel we encountered myriads of 
mosquitoes, all of which pests seemed to be bent on the 



HONOLULU AND SAMOA 225 

destruction of my left eye! In no time it was swollen 
tight shut. 

A native doctor attended me, pouring something 
suggesting vitriol — into the wrong eye! 

" Great Scott!" I yelled. "There goes my good eye. 
Why didn't you put it in the bad eye? You know that's 
gone for good anyway." 

The Hawaiian physician only smiled, charged me ten 
dollars and went his way after assuring me that I'd be 
"all right in no time." Before I did recover Arthur 
Hoops came along. "Governor," said he, "why don't 
you write about this beautiful place in your new book?" 

"How can I write about a place when I can't see?" 
I queried indignantly. 

It's great to leave Honolulu. The whole city bids 
you goodby. We were covered with flowers when we 
reached the deck of our ship the next day and as we 
backed out of the dock their band played Aloha, their 
goodby song. 

Seven days later, July 10, to be exact, land appeared 
on the horizon which the skipper informed us was 
Apia, Samoa. It was about four o'clock in the after- 
noon when I was awakened from my slumbers to catch 
a view of the coveted land. My attention was divided 
contemplating the horizon and looking back at the wake 
of the steamer. As we approached the entrance to the 
harbor we were reminded very much of Honolulu. 
Samoa however, is protected on each side by two 
peninsulas projecting far out into the sea. 

As one approaches land one notices the ground is 
covered with much vegetation. Cocoanut trees are in 
abundance. Tiny specks appear as one draws nearer. 
These soon develop into delightful little huts and 
homes of modern architecture, occupied by consuls 
and men with diplomatic positions. This harbor has a 
history. 



226 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

Once it was the scene of a tremendous hurricane which 
caught several ships at anchor in the bay and blew 
them on the rocks. One English ship perished with all 
on board as she vainly endeavored to turn her bow 
towards the storm. The crew went down to Davy 
Jones's locker with the ship's band playing Rule, Britan- 
nia! On the rocks we saw a monument to the lost 
of this catastrophe in the shape of a wrecked German 
man-of-war. 

As we approached the shore swarms of natives came 
rowing out to meet us. What splendid specimens of 
manhood they were! Perfectly formed they were ap- 
parently quite unconscious of their power and as gentle 
as they were strong. I noticed one strapping fellow 
standing in the bow of his boat beckoning me to join 
him. As the sun shone upon his copper colored skin 
he seemed a monarch even in his semi-nudity and in 
barbaric splendor he suggested Othello. With the aid 
of two assistants Othello soon landed us on the sands 
of sunny Samoa. Here we were at once surrounded by 
a swarm of natives who persuaded us to purchase fans, 
beads, rings, wooden canoes, corals, shells and a score of 
other things in which the island abounds. These arti- 
cles are secured with the least possible labor for the 
true Samoan considers it infra dig to labor long and is 
firmly convinced that it is a very poor world that won't 
support one race of gentlemen. 

I am sorry to say the women do not appeal to one 
as much as the men. They are small of stature and 
run to fat. They take but little time in arranging their 
toilet for the day and seldom keep their men friends 
waiting when asked to a party or a ball, their raiment 
consisting mostly of beads! 

We spent but little time among the natives as we were 
anxious to visit the home of Robert Louis Stevenson. 
We finally succeeded in procuring a conveyance, a small 



HONOLULU AND SAMOA 227 

cart and pony, and were soon on our way to his home. 
After two miles the road turned into a smaller one and 
there a sign board, cleanly white-washed, told us in the 
Samoan tongue that we were nearing the abode of the 
great romancer. The sign, translated, told all travellers 
that the road was built by the Samoans as a monument 
to their beloved friend. At the end of the road we 
came upon a locked gate. We vaulted over and in a 
few minutes we came upon a house, flat, but of rather 
huge dimensions. 

As we approached the veranda a lady, of small 
stature, dressed in a Mother Hubbard, in bare feet, 
came graciously forward to meet us. In a moment I 
recognized her. Her face was keen and intelligent and 
once must have been beautiful. She was pale, thought- 
ful, dignified and sad. Hers was the right kind of 
face! It stamped her as the wife of the man who has 
made the world marvel at his wondrous imagination. 
We made ourselves known and were received most 
hospitably. She seemed glad to welcome Anglo-Saxons. 

I told her the news of McKinley's nomination and 
the sad tidings of the death of Kate Field, her life-long 
friend. 

She prepared a luncheon for us (which did not quite 
suit my fancy, but I was too polite to refuse it). It 
was some kind of a mushy mixture, requiring the use of 
a mortar and pestle, which the natives manipulate 
quite skillfully. It consisted of several ingredients, one 

of which I thought was never mind! That was 

soon over, thank the Lord, and Mrs. Stevenson showed 
us the house. We reveled in R. L.'s study which was 
filled with many original prints, books, emblems and 
gifts of every description. 

In this room he passed away one afternoon while 
giving a reception to the natives who loved him dearly. 
While bestowing his hospitality he complained of a pain 



228 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

in his side and, excusing himself to his guests, started 
for his chamber. His wife, noticing his deathly pallor, 
rushed to his assistance. (Mrs. Stevenson was explicit 
in her description.) "Give them my compliments," he 
said to her as she half carried him toward his bedroom. 
"Tell them I'm a trifle ill, but we will all be together 
a week from to-night." And he waved an adieu and 
tried to hide the pain that racked his body. "It's 
nothing," he kept repeating to his wife, "it will soon 
pass away." But just as he entered his bedroom words 
failed him; he could only smile, grasp her hand and 
sink back onto the bed. 

Thus passed the soul of one of the dearest men and 
one of the most brilliant. He suffered but he uttered 
no complaint. He had a kindly word even for savages. 
Now his body lies at the top of a huge mountain and 
if you look steadily you can almost outline the form as 
if it were lying on some great catafalque. It is most 
difficult of access; it took the natives two days and 
nights to place him on his bed of flowers. But to this 
day many of the sturdier ones make the toilsome climb 
and pay homage to the man they call their "dear 
master." 

There alone he lies, as far as possible away from 
this plaything called earth. Huge trees stand like 
silent sentinels sheltering him from wind and rain. 
His companions are the little birds who sing his praises 
through all the hours of the day and night. Above the 
moon and stars dance with joy and I can fairly hear 
the jolly old moon say, "Bobby, we've got you at last!" 
And each star is whispering as it twinkles along, "Bobby 
has come, Bobby has come!" 

Rest on, Robert, until eternity has grown gray. If 
we worshipped you down here, what must they be doing 
for you now? The world is jealous. We have only 
your memory. They have your soul. 



HONOLULU AND SAMOA 229 

Tears streamed down my face as I bade goodby to 
Mrs. Stevenson. It was all very sad, but I wouldn't 
have missed it for the crown the Bourbons lost. 

By midnight we were back on board and off to Auck- 
land. We arrived seven days later after a most perilous 
journey. I have never seen such storms as we en- 
countered. The Pacific can pick up more trouble than 
two Atlantic oceans. During the entire seven days we 
were thrown from one side of the ship to the other 
with our trunks, hat boxes and valises. We finally had 
to tie them down. It took two "ordinary" seamen to 
open a handbag! 

Captain Van Otterendorf, who apparently had taken 
a fancy to me, one day after we were compelled to 
heave to and lie in the trough of the sea, called me to 
his chart room. 

"My tear Goodvin," he said, "ve are in a most 
precarious position. Ve haf no more coal in de bunkers 
and ve are quietly drifting on to de rocks vich are only 
about two hundred miles to de Vest. I vish ve were 
farder avay from de land." I said, "I don't." He 
said, "Veil, I am now burning de live stock for fuel 
and we vill put out de fires in about an hour and hoist 
de mainsail." "Why didn't you do this two days ago 
and save the coal?" I asked. "I didn't know how much 
ve started away from Samoa vith until the purser yust 
told me," he replied. I looked at him. "What do you 
tell me all this for? Don't you think I am frightened 
enough without this information?" He replied, "Veil, 
I like you. No one yet knows vat vill take place on 
de ocean and ve can only hope for de best." 

He pulled out a huge bottle of Scotch whiskey from 
somewhere and I drank a goblet and in about an hour 
I didn't care whether the ship sank or not. Luckily the 
next day the storm abated. We arrived at harbor of 
Sydney. 




Chapter LI 1 1 

PUBLICITY— ITS RESULTS 

EFORE arranging my Australian tour 
(while I was engaged to the Kentucky 
lady) I had planned to obtain a divorce 
in California by an understanding with 
the second Mrs. Goodwin from whom I 
was then legally separated. She gave 
her consent for a cash payment of twenty thousand 
dollars. (Wives came high even in those days!) 

When I decided to call off the engagement with the 
Kentucky lady the divorce was nearly consummated 
and on my arrival at San Francisco my attorneys in- 
formed me that everything was "O. K." If I came 
through with the twenty thousand I would be free in 
forty-eight hours! 

I was so dejected I did not care whether I was free 
or not and so informed my lawyers. They told me 
that they had worked hard over the case, that there 
would be no publicity (the suit was brought in a remote 
town in lower California) and that I would better pay 
the money and get it over. I complied with their 
arguments and sailed away feeling as blue as the waters 
beneath me. 

Again Fate was quietly weaving his web. At the 
very moment that I had secured my freedom, after 
months of preparation, Maxine Elliott filed a suit for 
her divorce. Neither of us knew of the other's intention 
until the American papers came, eight weeks later, with 
pages, not columns, devoted to the arch-conspiracy 
formed by us at San Francisco! I had "stolen" Miss 

230 



PUBLICITY — ITS RESULTS 231 

Elliott away from Frawley, "deserted" my poor, con- 
fiding (twenty-thousand-dollar) wife. Miss Elliott and 
I had obtained our divorces in order to marry in 
Australia ! 

It was very difficult to inform the world ten thousand 
miles away that we very innocently signed a business 
contract without any thought of matrimony. But the 
fact of our obtaining divorces at the same time, hers 
following mine by only four weeks, was proof positive! 

I shall never forget the day Max and Gertrude came 
to my room in the hotel in Sydney with tears streaming 
down their faces. They were literally buried in news- 
papers which they threw on the tables, chairs and bed. 
In them were pictures of us all and glaring headlines of 
a most sensational character. The girls upbraided me 
for not telling them that I was seeking a divorce. I 
told them I had forgotten all about it until my arrival 
in San Francisco and in my turn asked Max why she 
didn't let me know that she was endeavoring to secure 
her freedom? She answered that it was nobody's 
business, particularly not mine. I agreed with her and 
suggested that the best thing to do was to say nothing 
and let matters take their course. 

I succeeded in assuaging her grief and we confined 
ourselves to writing denials to our friends in America. 
As for our contemplated plunge into matrimony Ger- 
trude asked, "Why deny that? One never knows what 
may occur and you two do certainly seem to get along 
together." That got a laugh and we decided not to 
deny the possibility. 

During our Australian tour we were very much to- 
gether, the three of us, but only in a professional and 
social way. Expressions of love never passed between 
Maxine and me then — and very few in after life! 

Well, we finished the Australian tour and came back 
to America, only to be met with more severe and even 



232 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

more vilifying articles. They were so cruel, untrue and 
personal that I very foolishly replied to one or two of the 
scorpion writers, which resulted in the article I shall 
quote later on written by the Hon. Henry Watterson, 
and published in the Louisville " Courier Journal. " 

I think that even then we would not have married if 
it had not been for the reports circulated by three 
female members of my Australian company; one, an 
old lady who had once been a prima donna in an opera 
company, another, a young lady whom I discharged in 
Australia for being photographed nude and another lady 
who considered that Miss Elliott had usurped her posi- 
tion in my company. Two of these ladies perjured 
themselves in affidavits. One of them swore that Miss 
Elliott and I had communicating cabins on the ship 
coming back, also communicating rooms at Honolulu. 

The columns of most of the dailies contained articles 
not quite as flagrant as the above accusations, but 
enough to establish a liaison between us and to ruin the 
reputation of any woman. Having dear Gertrude to 
prove our alibis we were conscious of having committed 
no crime and still allowed matters to take their course. 

I always had great respect for Maxine's brain and her 
splendid opinions regarding untried plays. Had it not 
been for her superlative judgment I should never have 
produced "An American Citizen" or "Nathan Hale." 

Perhaps she discovered that my roles in both plays 
were subservient to hers. I later found that the lady 
was as discerning as she was discriminating. However, 
both plays were produced with much success. We both 
scored, I making base hits, she, home runs. I first 
printed her name featured as supporting me, but as I 
became enamoured of her charms her type gradually 
became larger until it equaled mine. 

I think if we had been associated a few years longer 
my name would have been up as her leading support! 







In An American Citizen 

// we had been associated a jew years longer my name would have been 
up as her hading support! 




Chapter LIV 

IN THE LAND OF THE KANGAROO 

E were to have opened our Australian 
engagement in Sydney — but we didn't. 
At the dock, awaiting us, was James C. 
Williamson, then and until his death the 
magnate of the Antipodes in theatrical 
affairs. I had known him back in New 
York in the eighties when he was just "Jimmy." I 
had played under his management and had always 
found him a likeable, fair-minded man. We were to 
play in Australia under the management of Williamson 
and Musgrove. Mr. George Musgrove had made the 
contract with me before we started. 

Well, as soon as I landed Williamson informed me we 
were not to open in Sydney but must through to Mel- 
bourne that very night. 

The sting of this disappointment was largely lessened 
by our finding on the pier, ready to greet us, two 
American girls, one of them little Sadie McDonald whom 
we all loved. Poor little Sadie McDonald! How she 
wanted to go back to God's country! She died before 
we finished our engagement in Australia. 

That night we went to Melbourne was the coldest I 
ever lived through. It was like a December blizzard 
without the snow. And the date was July 24! 

Forgetting that we were going to a land where the 
seasons are upside down I had no heavy clothing with 
me and almost froze. 

We were billed to open the night of our arrival. In 
the forenoon I drove about trying to discover some 

233 



234 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

announcements of the fact. What I found would have 
done injustice to a high school's graduating exercises. 
Then I remembered that Williamson had been opposed 
to my coming. I found him and asked why our attrac- 
tion had not been billed. 

"Well," replied Williamson, "Musgrove cabled me to 
announce you modestly and quietly." 

"You've complied with the request," I said. "Why 
didn't you say Johnny Jones was coming? It would 
have meant just as much. Considering the years we've 
known each other I consider your treatment of me most 
unfair." 

Musgrove's idea had been that I open in " The Prisoner 
of Zenda" and when he found Maxine and Gertrude 
Elliott were to be in my company he had wired instruc- 
tions to San Francisco to have them measured for 
costumes and the figures were sent to him in London. 
Williamson consistently objected to my playing " Zenda." 
He thought the play strong enough to do without a 
star. So it happened, one night in Chicago where I was 
playing "David Garrick," that Musgrove changed his 
mind about our opening bill. I held out for "Zenda" 
firmly. But Musgrove insisted that no matter what my 
vehicle I was sure to be a success in Australia. In the 
week he watched my work I put on six different plays 
and after each one he was more enthusiastic. I couldn't 
make him realize that I was playing before a public I 
had grown up with, who came to see me in any play. 

"In Australia," I argued with him, "I shall be a cold 
proposition hurled at them and I must have the best 
play possible for my introduction. As the prince in 
' Zenda ' I'm only part of the ensemble surrounded by 
beautifully gowned women, with splendid male opposing 
parts, playing a character almost any good actor would 
succeed in. After ' Zenda' I can spring my repertoire 
with some chance." 



IN THE LAND OF THE KANGAROO 235 

"You're the best actor I ever saw," replied Musgrove. 
"I know Australian audiences and you'll knock 'em 
dead." 

I disagreed with him! Therefore I changed the terms 
of our agreement and instead of taking a gamble took 
fifteen per cent of the gross receipts and a guarantee of 
so much money weekly. McCIellan signed the docu- 
ments for me. 

Our opening bill was "A Gilded Fool." You may 
imagine my amazement when I found we had a packed 
house. And it was a most kindly-disposed audience too. 
Every member of the company got a reception on his 
entrance and I came in for an ovation. The play went 
especially well, I thought. We went home assured we 
had made a hit. The papers the next day were fairly 
enthusiastic, with one exception, and that one criticized 
us unmercifully. The opening occurred on Saturday. 

Monday night's house was $120 in our money — and 
that was the best we did any night in the week until 
Saturday when a change of bill drew another capacity 
audience. Williamson's local manager told me after 
this second Saturday night that we were "all right 
now." But Monday night came and with it a $150 
house. Not until the next Saturday night and a change 
of bill did we do any business, then it was capacity 
again. I came to the conclusion that Melbourne was a 
one-night stand, to be played only on Saturday! 

This was the story of the whole sixteen weeks I played 
in Australia. The last week in Sydney, however, we 
did do a trifle over $5,000 with "An American Citizen," 
its first production on any stage. 

Personally I had a bully time, particularly on the 
race courses where I spent most of my time. 

We played only Sydney, Melbourne and Adelaide. 
Our business in Adelaide was wretched but the weather 
was worse! It was as hot as Melbourne was cold. I 



236 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

never suffered so with the heat. I am told that Aus- 
tralia has improved. There was plenty of room for 
improvement! Had it not been for the generosity of 
several bookies I certainly would have had an unhappy 
four months. 

Williamson was heartless in his treatment of us. I 
learned from one of his staff that after our first week 
Musgrove cabled, "Put Goodwin on immediately in 
'Zenda.'" Williamson stalled with Musgrove for almost 
the whole four months. Finally when Musgrove's ire 
had been aroused he expressed himself so emphatically 
in his cables that Williamson came to me and asked 
that I remain an additional ten weeks, appearing in 
"Zenda." Before this he had hardly spoken to me. And 
that very day I had sent dear old George Appleton, 
my personal manager at the time, on a steamship for 
America to book a tour for me opening in San Francisco 
in November. I listened to Williamson's proposition 
and made no reply. 

"Shall I send you the script to read?" he asked. 

"Jimmie," I replied, "we've been friends a great 
many years. There was no cause for your brutality 
towards my company and me. Now back of you is the 
Bank of Australia. For all the gold that bank contains 
you couldn't keep me here ten more weeks and I sail 
for America four weeks from to-day. Good afternoon. 
Kindly excuse me. I'm going to the races." 

And that was the last conversation I ever had with 
James C. Williamson, Esquire. 

An incident of our stay in Adelaide may serve to 
show the mental attitude of your average Antipodean. 
The local manager, one Goodi, was very friendly with 
me and I liked him immensely. He worried over our 
failure more than I did. One night he met me in the 
lobby of the theatre almost distracted. 

"Think of these people!" he exclaimed. "They liked 



IN THE LAND OF THE KANGAROO 237 

Mrs. Brown Potter and Kyrle Bellew! See what *A 
Trip to Chinatown* is doing, packing 'em in! And an 
artist like you doing nothing! It's a blooming shame. 
We haven't a seat sold in advance for to-night's per- 
formance. Now, don't you think it's wise for me to 
paper the house?" (To " paper" is to give away 
tickets.) 

"Do what you like, Goodi," I replied. "I'm satis- 
fied." 

Directly opposite the theatre lounging in chairs on 
the sidewalk was a gang of men, about sixty I should 
say. They were rather a rough looking lot but I 
thought they might be human. I suggested we invite 
them in. Goodi approached them. After a moment 
they silently slouched out of their chairs and shuffled 
into the lobby in a body. Here they gathered into little 
groups and held a consultation. Finally one of them 
approached Goodi and pulling off his cap asked, "It's 
all right, guv'nor, but what do we get for our time?" 

One other incident of that Australian visit was not so 
humorous. It happened early in our stay. I had 
noticed for several days that McCIellan was nervous 
and ill at ease. Finally I asked him to explain. 

"Well," he began haltingly, "I guess I've got to tell 
you. It'll come out soon enough. I'm broke." 

"That's all right, George. My guarantee of $1500 a 
week gives us a profit of $600. And you have the 
tickets back to San Francisco." 

"That's it," wailed McCIellan. " I haven't! I haven't 
even paid for the tickets that brought us over." 

"How did you get them then?" I asked. 

"I went to Adolph Spreckles," he replied, "and on 
the strength of your name got him to lend me the 
money and I signed notes for it. And the first one is 
due to-morrow." 

I felt like pitching him out of the window. The 



238 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

tickets cost almost $9,000! And I was stung for it! 
That was the end of George B. McCIellan so far as I 
was concerned, at least for many years. (Finally I 
made it up with him at a supper in London given by 
the Savage Club to the Lambs.) I never have thought 
George meant to do wrong. He simply took a gamble 
and lost out. It was fortunate for the company that 
it was I who was the goat. Had it not been so most 
of them would have been stranded in that awful land! 
As it was I got them all back to San Francisco. 

In the previous chapter I referred casually to my 
becoming engaged to Maxine. It may be well to 
enlarge a bit. The divorce proceedings instituted by 
my attorneys against Nella Baker Pease had been quite 
forgotten by me. It was not until we had been in 
Australia four weeks that it was called to my attention 
and then as I have already described. The day it 
happened had been an especially profitable one for me 
at the track and I came back to the hotel buoyant and 
full of good spirits. I remember detached bits of our 
conversation following the hysterical entrance of Maxine 
and Gertrude. 

"I'll never go back to that beastly country," wailed 
Maxine. "Just see what they say about you and me," 
and she thrust an armful of newspapers at me. "Never 
mind me," I replied. "Think of yourself." And when 
I discovered that that attempt at consolation was no 
go I added, "Why, it will all be dead by the time we 
get back." Maxine was not to be comforted, however. 
She was sure our arrival in America would result in a 
fresh outburst of scandal. "Maybe it will," I agreed, 
"but we haven't done any wrong, any harm, so why 
should we worry?" Maxine wrung her hands and 
sobbed. "We know our behavior has been absolutely 
right," I urged. "We know," said Maxine, "but the 
world doesn't know." And I confess I could find noth- 



IN THE LAND OF THE KANGAROO 239 

ing to say to that. I was rattled. A chicken I had 
bought on my way home from the track and had put 
on a spit to roast over my grate fire was a mass of 
charcoal when I finally discovered it. At dinner I upset 
a bottle of claret all over the table cloth and spilled a 
pot of hot tea into Gertrude's lap. It was the most 
inharmonious meal I ever ate. I was rattled! 

And all the time Gertrude said nothing. That is up 
to the moment that scalding tea hit her. Then she let 
go! 

"You two people are acting like a couple of fools/' 
she began — succinctly. "There's only one way out of 
it and you've got to take it." 

"What is it?" Maxine and I asked. 

"Cable America you're engaged and are to be married 
some time next season." 

I left the room. At the theatre Maxine and I made 
no reference to Gertrude's suggestion. On our return 
to the hotel I tried to excuse myself from our usual 
supper. But Max, with a merry little twinkle in her 
eyes, said, "Oh come on." 

"What do you think of Gertrude's suggestion?" asked 
Max. 

"What do you think of it?" I parried. 

"I'm game," said Max. 

"You're on," said I. 

And thus began my "romance." 



Chapter LV 




WELCOME (!) HOME 

HE Australian sense of humor is pecul- 
iar. My last night at Sydney, at the 
end of the five-thousand-dollar-week, I 
interpolated in my speech of farewell 
a line from Shakespeare, "Parting is 
such sweet sorrow." The audience ap- 
plauded vociferously! 

We packed with joyous anticipation. We were going 
home! 

After we got out of the theatre I made straight for 
a little hotel run by a New England woman and gorged 
myself on baked beans! On the way I ran across 
Arthur Hoops and Louis Payne. 

"Governor," said Payne, "if we turn up aboard the 
ship to-morrow a bit squiffy or with a hold-over, you 
won't mind, will you?" "Go to it," responded I. 
"I may turn up that w r ay myself." They kept their 
promise and I nearly kept mine! 

There were hundreds of people at the pier to see us 
off. I wondered if they were inspired by feelings of 
gratitude! It sounded like a courteous farewell but I 
was never sure. 

At Honolulu we had our first taste of the "Welcome 
home" we were all so fondly counting on. A new 
theatre had just been finished and a Mr. Marks, now 
one of the lessees of the Columbia Theatre in San Fran- 
cisco, was on the ground making arrangements for its 
formal opening as agent for the Frawley company. 

240 




As Bob Acres 

/ gave Bob a country dialect 



WELCOME (!) HOME 241 

Almost as soon as we docked a dozen gentlemen ap- 
proached me and asked that I give a performance that 
night in the new playhouse. I told them it was impossi- 
ble; our wardrobes and scenery were packed in the hold 
of the ship; it would be out of the question. 

"Never mind," said they, "go on in your street 
clothes!" 

I explained we had no make-up even. My company 
was scattered all over the island, sight-seeing. 

"We'll send, out a posse and corral them," they 
insisted. 

"But how will anyone know we're going to play?" 
I asked. 

"We'll call everybody in town on the telephone and 
tell them," they replied. 

And they did. And that night, in our street clothes 
and without make-up, we gave a performance that took 
in $1100, of which I got ninety per cent! It was a nice 
bit of spending money on the way to San Francisco. 

Marks was very indignant. But the gentlemen told 
him that if he tried to prevent the performance they 
would cancel the contract with Frawley. 

Altogether that stop at Honolulu was joyous. And 
as we sailed out of the harbor the next morning, followed 
by the strains of Aloha from the native band, we were 
a very happy lot. 

We were amazed to find a solid jam of humanity 
waiting on the pier in San Francisco. Such a greeting 
had never entered our minds! When we opened the 
newspapers we found the reason. They were teeming 
with the most sensational matter concerning our goings 
on in Australia. It was indeed a "welcome home!" 

We paid as little attention to the scurrilous slanders 
as possible and prepared for our opening at the Baldwin 
Theatre in "An American Citizen." As a measure of 
safety I announced "The Rivals" as the bill for the 



242 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

second half of the week. But capacity audiences was 
the rule during the whole engagement. 

I was very nervous about doing "The Rivals." I 
knew comparison with Jefferson was inevitable. I had 
caught it in Australia for daring to play a role made 
classic by the "dean of the drama" and I feared for my 
presumption in invading his own bailiwick. I was afraid 
I could never avoid using Jefferson's methods as I had 
played with him so many times; but I finally hit on 
the plan of giving Bob a country dialect and this made 
him a very different characterization from Jefferson's. 
I received splendid reviews and one editorial. 







Chapter LVI 

NUMBER THREE 

|HE series of malicious falsehoods con- 
cerning Maxine and me which were 
being published daily would have made 
us fit subjects for the penitentiary had 
they been true. Articles, hideous in 
their construction, were sent broadcast 
throughout the country purporting to picture our lives 
and conduct in the Antipodes. (And with what zest 
did the press of America copy them!) 

By the time our opening in "An American Citizen" 
arrived we were so nervous we gave a performance fifty 
per cent below our best. But the next morning we 
were amazed to discover that we were a great aggrega- 
tion of actors — Maxine and I scoring tremendously ! 
The papers expressed much surprise that she had "im- 
proved" so much during her short association with me. 
Poor, deluded critics! Never by any possible chance 
do you differentiate. Never do you disassociate the 
player from his part. A genius playing Osric would 
vanish into obscurity if a duffer were playing Hamlet. 
Maxine Elliott, be she good or bad, was quite as clever 
when I first saw her act as the night she opened with 
me in San Francisco. But now she was appearing in a 
star part, surrounded by a clever company, beautifully 
gowned and (pardon a little pride) very carefully edited! 
She had left a dollar aggregation, an extremely good 
competitor, Miss Blanche Bates (whose acting eclipsed 
Maxine's beauty), and a company of players all acting 

243 



244 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

for individual hits irrespective of the ensemble. She 
returned a member of an organization noted for its 
team work whose motto was "One for all and all for 
one" — and that particular one Maxine! She appeared 
in a character molded to her charm and beauty and 
supported (!) by a star of twenty years' standing! 

Naturally she scored in such an environment! She 
would have done as well months before under the same 
conditions, but the ever wise critic saw an "improve- 
ment." 

Was it her acting or the unwholesome notoriety that 
preceded us that had opened his discerning eyes? 

I wonder. 

I sandwiched in "The Rivals" with "An American 
Citizen" as a matter of self-protection. Max was fairly 
smothering me in most of the cities we visited! I was 
shining in a reflected light, her effulgence forcing me back 
into the shadows. Also, and equally annoying to me, 
questions were beginning to be asked as to our marital 
intentions. Allusions to "Beauty and the Beast" were 
not infrequent. Happily a few of the critics were re- 
spectful and while none could pay homage to my beauty 
a few allowed that I had not lost the art of acting! 
This was encouraging and I endeavored to win the fair 
Maxine along those lines. 

I finally succeeded! 

But it was some endeavor! 

I don't remember the date of the marriage. It is 
extremely difficult for me to remember dates. I know 
the place, however! It was the HoIIenden Hotel in 
Cleveland. And I know I spent the previous evening 
with dear Dick Golden and Walter Jones and we three 
jolly bachelors had a bully time! It was a lucky thing 
that the marriage ceremony was only recovery for 
me! The boys had put me in no condition to learn a 
new part! 



NUMBER THREE 245 

Max received two wedding presents — a diamond 
ring from me and an anonymous letter from some 
"Christian lady" warning her against the "Monster" 
who had lured her into "Holy Matrimony!" 

We were very happy — at least I was — for a few 
months. I made the mistake of introducing her to a 
few conspicuous, powerful financiers who gave her tips 
on the stock market (and casual luncheons!). They 
also gave me tips. Mine lost invariably. Hers always 
won. How very strange! 

As we toured through the country to splendid business 
I discovered her authority was growing. I was con- 
stantly being censured for my grammar. She began to 
stage-manage my productions without waiting for my 
suggestions. She complained of my companions whom 
she found "common." My previous marriages came in 
for a share of her disapproval. 

I found this amusing inasmuch as she herself had 
made a previous plunge; as I had taken one of her 
family out of a lumber yard and tried to make him an 
actor; as I had taken a cousin from a picture gallery in 
Boston where she was going blind trying to copy minia- 
tures and made her an actress, and as another member 
of her family had committed suicide in a disreputable 
place in San Francisco. With this genealogical tree 
waving in the background she still had the courage 
to pluck my friends from my garden and call them 
"vulgar." 

Perhaps they were and are, but they all continue to 
be my friends! 

It was during the run of "An American Citizen" that 
the first thought of the disruption of my union with 
Maxine clouded my mind. It is seldom I care to refer 
to the dead except in a kindly way, but her attitude and 
that of Clyde Fitch is sufficient provocation. 

Fitch at this time (in 1897) was not especially pros- 



246 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

perous. Two years earlier he had come to me with an 
idea of making a play out of the story of Nathan Hale's 
life. I had told him I thought it an excellent subject 
and to go ahead. When he finished the play he decided 
it was beyond my capabilities and submitted it instead 
to E. H. Sothern — who turned it down! Then he 
went to Mansfield with the script and again met with 
no encouragement. From Mansfield he peddled "Na- 
than Hale" to each of the three Frohmans — and they 
unanimously voted it no good. 

Thus it transpired that I was in no friendly mood 
when I received the following letter: — 

154, West Fifty-Seventh St. 
Oct. 24, 1897. 
My dear Mr. Goodwin. 

I am just returned to N.Y. & I am glad to find you here, at least I 
shall be glad if you let me read you my new play — " Nathan Hale " 
— & dont escape me as you did so successfully in London. If 
you liked the scheme & story at all, I feel pretty sure you will 
like the play itself twice as well, & if you had been at the new 
Columbia College the other day when they unveiled a bas relief of 
Knowlton — one of my characters — & heard the tremendous enthu- 
siasm at the slightest, mention of Hale, I think your interest in the 
play & subject would have immensely increased. 

I can read it in two hours — or less, you can send me away as 
soon after I start as you like, if you dont care about it. I've no 
desire to choke the play down yr throat. All I want you to do is 
take one chance in it! & right away, as I am back here to sell this 
play to somebody & dont want to waste time. Wont you give me 
an appointment tomorrow? or the next day? or the next? (Any 
hour you like.) Go on! Do! 

Yours, 

Clyde Fitch 

I must tell you the girl's part comes out rather important, but I 
hope you won't mind that. 

And this is the gentleman who, a few years later, 
insisted on the transportation of an entire company 
from Philadelphia to New York because he was too 




Maxine Elliott 
Fate's partner 



NUMBER THREE 247 

weary to make the trip himself. (The company was 
rehearsing one of his plays and he insisted on personally 
supervising it.) 

Even after his supplicating letter I dodged Fitch. 
I didn't like him in the first place and his shabby 
behavior with "Nathan Hale" made me disgusted with 
him. I broke a dozen appointments with him, but 
finally he cornered me and I had to hear the play. 
While I knew I could neither look nor suggest the char- 
acter I did see possibilities for acting and I was sure the 
role of Alice Adams would fit Maxine down to the 
ground. For these reasons I agreed to produce the 
play. 

From that day forward Clyde Fitch and my wife 
conspired against me. They exchanged endearing ex- 
pressions through the mail — aided and abetted by the 
wife of a Chicago dentist who had committed suicide 
after one of his "best friends" had stolen his wife (who 
deserted her child to come to New York and aid other 
women with affinities!). Fancy, killing one's self! Why 
not kill her and her paramour? 

They made a worthy trio! And they finally suc- 
ceeded in hatching a scheme which developed in Maxine's 
starring alone in a play written for her by Fitch called 
"Her Own Way" — an appropriate title cunningly se- 
lected. They launched her as a star (on my money!) and 
broke up my home! They had to come to me to obtain 
bookings for a road tour. For putting up the cash I 
was to get one third of the profits. Abe Erlanger 
refused to go in with me for one dollar, insisting that 
Maxine would be an awful flivver on her own. But 
the play made an instant hit and her success was just 
as big. 

Could I have possessed even a little bit of clairvoy- 
ance I should have then and there bought a ticket to 
Reno! 



Chapter LVII 

WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE 
AND OTHER PLAYS 




UR success with "Nathan Hale" was tre- 
mendous. For Maxine it was nothing 
short of a triumph. And during the sea- 
son I signed a contract with Fitch for 
another play to follow it. He turned 
out "The Cowboy and the Lady." 
Neither Max nor I fancied our characters and although 
we did big business with the play we were most uncom- 
fortable in our roles. It failed miserably in London — 
where they recognize the real value of plays ! 

I think it was the summer of 1898 (but what differ- 
ence does it make?) that I met Henry V. Esmond, the 
author-actor and a very clever young man. In any 
event it was in London and at the time of the failure 
of "The Cowboy and the Lady." He asked me how I 
would like a play founded on Thackery's poem "When 
We Were Twenty-One." I thought the idea immense 
and told him so. We made a contract for the play on 
the spot and six weeks later he delivered the manu- 
script ! 

Max and I were both delighted with it. We brought 
it back with us in the Fall but instead of producing it 
in New York immediately we revived "The Cowboy and 
the Lady." Poor as that play was it absolutely refused 
to play to bad business! I kept it on until about the 
middle of the season and took it off with a nineteen- 
hundred-dollar-house begging me to keep it going! 

248 



WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE 249 

"When We Were Twenty-One" made the biggest and 
the most nearly instantaneous hit of any play I ever 
produced. It was a gold mine for me. But there is 
little I could say about it that any of you, dear readers, 
can't anticipate. I might say only that I never played 
the role I liked best in the play! 

It was along about this time that I made a production 
of "The Merchant of Venice." And it was a produc- 
tion! And, although it was not so advertised, it was as 
nearly an "all-star" cast as many of the revivals of late 
years have been — if not more so ! For four weeks my 
characterization of Shylock seemed to please the public 
and certainly attracted large audiences in spite of the fact 
that the critics in New York roasted my performance 
to a fare-ye-well. For one reason or another the critics 
have always resented me except as a comedian! 

My next production was "The Altar of Friendship" 
which had been a failure with John Mason in the leading 
role. He had made a great personal success and the 
play had received splendid notices but the public stayed 
away. When the late Jacob Litt consigned the produc- 
tion to the storehouse I opened negotiations with him, 
bought the property and put it on. It proved to be 
one of the biggest money-makers Maxine and I ever 
had! But Maxine's bee for starring alone came buzzing 
by and deafened her to the tinkle of the box office 
receipts. It finally stung me and our professional 
partnership came to an end. "The Altar of Friendship" 
was our last joint vehicle. 

"The Usurper" was my first production after our 
separation. It made a big hit on the road but failed in 
New York. I left Gotham at the end of two weeks and 
went to Boston where we did a tremendous week, con- 
tinuing on for the rest of the season to splendid business. 

It was during this time that Klaw & Erlanger ap- 
proached me with an offer to open their new New 



250 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

Amsterdam Theatre. The bill was to be "A Midsummer 
Night's Dream," my role Bottom. It sounded good to 
me and I accepted. Erlanger gave it a most lavish pro- 
duction and announced it for a long run. The open- 
ing house was $2700! But the next night the receipts 
dropped to $1100. I have always believed it was due 
to insufficient advertising and to the fact that the 
theatre was new and in a strange locality (in those days 
Forty-second Street west of Seventh Avenue was strange 
— theatrically!). 

Erlanger was much annoyed. He was not very keen 
for Shakespeare anyway. In his disappointment he 
rashly determined to end our engagement in three 
weeks. I argued and pleaded in vain. I could not 
make him see it was madness deliberately to kill all 
chances of our making any money on the road. And 
to quit in three weeks in New York was admission of 
failure beyond dispute. 

It didn't take long for the trouble to start. Within 
a fortnight Alan Dale got in his choicest work. An 
illustrated page in the Hearst Sunday paper showed 
Maxine, costumed to represent Florence Nightingale, 
standing Juno-like with outstretched hands as if she 
might be Charity — or perhaps Hope ! Below her was 
a caricature of Arthur Byron who had just failed in a 
play called "Major Andre." Maxine had moved into the 
Savoy Theatre as Byron was forced out. He was pic- 
tured running up a hill with a valise in his hand, saying, 
"She saved me, Nat!" I was down in the lower left 
hand corner at the back door of a theatre in a beseech- 
ing attitude. Out of my mouth issued these words: 
"Won't you please come in, Max?" 

That alleged comic picture settled our road business 
once and for all. To make matters worse, if that were 
possible, Klaw & Erlanger acted on Dale's suggestion 
and insisted on Maxine's following my engagement at 






WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE 251 

the New Amsterdam. I knew this was the last straw 
and fatal to whatever chances we might have had other- 
wise and I asked to be let out then and there. But 
Erlanger insisted that we go to Boston. 

Our company numbered one hundred and fifty 
people! Our weekly expenses were $6,000! 

Arrived in Boston I strolled into the HoIIis Street 
Theatre where we were to open. There wasn't a soul 
on HoIIis Street as I turned the corner from Washington 
Street. It was noon and I had expected to see a line 
extending half way to the corner. I found the treasurer 
in the box office smoking a cigarette. After the usual 
salutations I inquired casually if we were sold out. 

"Pipe that rack," quoth the treasurer laconically as 
he indicated a forest of tickets arranged on a board. 

"Are all those tickets for to-night?" I asked. 

"Uh huh," grunted the treasurer and took a deep 
inhale of his cigarette. 

We opened to less than $600. The performance 
made such a tremendous hit that we were sold out the 
last three performances of the week and the following 
week saw never an empty seat at any performance — 
and for all that we made no money! From Boston we 
went to Brooklyn where our opening house was $400. 
(Florence Nightingale was working her influence!) We 
played to gradually increasing business — but not 
enough to cover expenses — during the rest of the week. 
The next (and last) stand was Newark where we opened 
to $200! Again business increased with every perform- 
ance but again we had a losing week. Then it was I 
insisted on closing. Florence Nightingale was an ad- 
vance agent no attraction could hope to win out against. 
Thus Newark saw the last of "A Midsummer Night's 
Dream." 

And this is the record of a play which drew in two 
performances in one day more than $5,000! The day 



252 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

was the last Saturday of our three-weeks' run at the 
New Amsterdam! 

Following this fiasco I entered into a contract with 
Charles Frohman under which we produced "Beauty 
and the Barge," by Jacobs, the English playwright. It 
should have run a year. It failed dismally. I knew it 
would after witnessing the dress rehearsal. David 
Warfield, Frohman and I sat out front at that rehearsal, 
my part being read so I could get an idea of the en- 
sembles. I discovered my two ingenues might have 
been taken from the Forest Home! My two light 
comedians were so light I am sure they could have 
walked on water! An old man character insisted on 
hitting the hard stage with his cane — supposed to be a 
garden! I begged Frohman to postpone the opening. 
These five people had a twenty-two-minute scene before 
I came on. Warfield agreed with me. 

A friend of Frohman's had come in meantime. He 
insisted that my "marvelous" acting would carry the 
play. 

"Marvelous acting be damned!" I cried. "No 
human being could succeed with such incompetent 
surroundings." 

I was voted down, however, and the next night we 
opened at the Lyceum Theatre. The play was dead 
before I made my entrance, a score of men leaving the 
house in the first fifteen minutes. My dressing-room 
was w r ithin five feet of the stage and I could hear every 
sound, from front and back. It wrung my heart as I 
heard the delicate, pretty little scenes I had worshipped 
when I had seen Cyril Maude's company play it in 
London just torn all to pieces! Point after point went 
for nothing. AH the humor disappeared. It was 
awful! 

Finally came my cue and I went on. My reception 
was vociferous and brought me out of my slough of 




In When We were Twenty-One 

The biggest bit of any play I ever produced 



WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE 253 

despair. I even got a scene call after I made my exit. 
But the play was doomed. Afterwards I commiserated 
with Mr. Jacobs in London and told him it was only 
the acting that was to blame for its failure to run two 
years. It ran two weeks. 

"Wolfville," Clyde Fitch's' dramatization of those ex- 
cellent short stories by Alfred Henry Lewis, was my next 
production. This time it was not the fault of the actors. 
Fitch was to blame. He had taken all of Lewis' char- 
acters and then tried to write an original story around 
them. Fitch couldn't touch Lewis when it came to 
Western types — or stories. Again, before the first per- 
formance, I told Frohman we would fail — and we did, 
the piece dying at the end of six weeks. 

Frohman was at a loss to provide me with another 
play. He suggested that I take a steamship and see the 
first performances of two plays which he controlled, "Dr. 
Quick's Patient" and "The Alabaster Staircase." The 
latter was written by Captain Marshall of England who 
wrote "The Second in Command." John Hare was to 
enact the leading role. It looked good to me and I 
jumped across. My trip saved me two more failures as 
each of this pair of plays lasted just one week. Instead 
of either of them I brought back a manuscript of a 
comedy called "What Would a Gentleman Do?" — 
which proved as big a failure as any I ever had! Next 
I produced "The Master Hand" by a Mr. Fleming — 
whew! what a flivver! (The play, of course!) 

But before I increase this list further let me hark 
back to matters more personal if no less gloomy! 



Chapter LVIII 
AT JACKWOOD 




URING the early days at Jackwood when 
I was busily engaged in hiring guests to 
come and partake of my board and 
rooms (I mean the professional diners 
out) I found great difficulty in securing 
patrons. I had plenty at my command 
so far as professional friends and visiting Americans 
were concerned, but the fair Maxine had the English 
bee in her American bonnet and insisted that we try to 
get together some of the impecunious nobility and army 
men as guests. 

I knew of no one who represented those particular 
branches and had no desire to know any, but being 
under her hypnotic influence I sought a woman, the wife 
of a friend of mine, an American mining man, who knew 
all the swagger members of "the Guards." Through 
her influence one of these sapheads was persuaded to 
visit our humble home from Saturday to Monday. He 
came, accompanied by one of the present Dukes of 
England' (whose father, by the way, died owing me a 
paltry two thousand dollars, borrowed on the race course 
at Deauville, France). They came down with Mme. 
Melba and Haddon Chambers. 

We had a lovely time (that is, I presume they had). 
Max insisted on my entertaining the guests between 
courses with my supposedly funny stories. Generally 
after the telling of each one, which occupied some little 
time, my portion of the feast was either cold or con- 
fiscated by the butler. Very little attention was paid 

254 



AT JACKWOOD 255 

to me any way except when I was telling anecdotes (and 
on the first of every month when the bills became due!). 

On this particular Sunday evening the guests saun- 
tered into the drawing room expecting to hear Melba 
sing. She didn't even talk! 

Then the party, in couples, sauntered through the 
house and inspected the grounds. 

Being on particularly good terms with the butler I 
selected him for my companion and we quietly strolled 
through the upper rose terrace discussing a menu that 
might appeal to the next influx of England's dilettantes.^ 
By this time all my American friends were barred. 
Max considered them "extremely common" by now. 

The butler and I were figuring out the expenses of 
the previous month as the pale moon cast its rays over 
my book of memoranda. Inadvertently we stopped 
before an open window of the drawing room. As we 
stood there I chanced to overhear this remark: 

"How could you possibly have married such a vulgar 
little person?" 

Being terribly self conscious at all times I said to my 
butler, "Luic, I am the v. I. p. to whom that chocolate 
soldier is referring. Listen, and we'll have a Warrior's 
opinion of a Thespian!" 

Then ensued the following dialogue: — 

She: Do you think him vulgar? 

He: Not necessarily vulgar, but an awful accent! 

She: Well, no one ever accused him of an American 
accent. He was educated in Boston. Don't you think 
him rather amusing? 

He: In what way? 

She: By way of anecdotes and funny stories? 

He: Were those stories he told at dinner supposed 
to be funny? 

She: Of course; didn't you hear the guests laugh? 

He: Yes; so did I, but simply in a spirit of compli- 



256 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

ment. Is he supposed to be a comic man in your 
country? 

She: Extremely so. 

He: Really? 

She: And he talks remarkably well. 

He: Did he talk remarkably well to-night? 

She: I thought so. 

He: Well, maybe, but I was deafened by your 
beauty. I saw nothing but those beauteous eyes of 
yours, my dear Mrs. Goodwin and everything else was 
a blank. Really, I — 

She: Now don't pay me silly compliments, Lord 
Algy; it isn't nice. 

He: I beg your pardon; but please tell me how did 
you happen to marry that funny little man. 

She: Now don't ask impertinent questions; one has to 
get married and, really, when he talks he says something. 

He: Does he — really? 

The butler and I resumed our stroll. 

Some time after I met this Grenadier, talked — and 
said something! (My editor refuses even to edit it.) 

Jackwood proved a lovely summer abode for me. 
It cost me fifty thousand dollars to get it and fifteen 
thousand a "year" to keep it up (we were there about 
ten weeks every season). It cost me twenty-five thou- 
sand dollars to lose it! 

During our lives at Jackwood incident followed inci- 
dent, each of which convinced me the autumn leaves 
were falling that would soon bury me. I discovered the 
fair Maxine was being bored save when the house was 
filled with English guests. Americans bored her even 
more than I did! My repertoire palled and the anec- 
dotes she screamed at when we first were wed met with 
but little response and that only when the dinner table 
was filled with English guests who found it quite as 
difficult to fathom my wit as Maxine. 



AT JACKWOOD 257 

Life at Jackwood was beginning to pall on me. Many 
Sundays found me a lonely host. Max was constantly 
accepting invitations to meet people at country houses, 
spending the usual Saturday to Monday outing away 
from her own fireside. 

These Saturday to Monday gatherings as a rule were 
the rendezvous for unblushing husbands and wives 
whose mates were enjoying the hospitality of opposite 
houses of intrigue. Generally no husband is ever in- 
vited to these meetings accompanied by his own wife, 
the husband always accepting invitations to the house 
party of his friend's wife — and thus the silly and 
unwholesome game goes on. 

In nine weeks my wife made nine trips of from two 
to six days' duration each. These outings included a 
visit to one of England's ex-Prime Minister's country 
house, a Member of Parliament's yacht and a society 
lady's home at Doncaster. 

Being very respectable at the time, I was never in- 
vited to any of these functions. 

During my entire occupancy of Jackwood I accepted 
just one such invitation. And then I was bored stiff. 
Of all the asinine, vacant, vapid lot of people I ever 
saw commend me to the polyglot mob one meets at the 
average Saturday to Monday gathering. Even the few 
actors and actresses who were present seemed to absorb 
the atmosphere and became deadly dull. 

You must understand the guests are invited from some 
ulterior motive — women to meet men for every kind of 
purpose, men to mingle with men for financial reasons, 
from a tip on the race course to the promotion of a 
South African mining scheme, women to meet women 
to plot and intrigue and make trouble for either of the 
sexes. It is a sort of clearing-house for the sale of souls 
and the ruin of women's morals. At these gatherings 
more plots are schemed, more sins consummated, more 



258 NAT GOODWINS BOOK 

crimes committed than at Whitechapel during a busy 
Sunday! When one stops to consider what can be 
accomplished by a bunch of these parasites in forty- 
eight hours it is appalling. I leave it to your imagina- 
tion — what can be consummated in a week at these 
places — where statesmen and financiers lend them- 
selves to such intrigues — on yachts, in closed stone 
castles and concealed hunting lodges! 

At first I mildly protested against my wife's accepting 
these invitations and was always met with mild acquies- 
cence and a desire to do what I demanded. If it were 
distasteful to me she would not accept and, like a duti- 
ful wife, remain at home with me from Saturday to 
Monday. For two Sundays we sat in the drawing room 
with each other twirling our thumbs! It was a day of 
eloquent silence — each of those Sundays! At first I 
tried to think up stories to amuse her but she would 
look up from her book with those dreamy, cruel eyes, 
listen for a moment and in sweet dulcet tones re- 
mark : — 

"Very clever, my dear, and most amusing, but you 
told me that some time ago at Seattle!" Then she 
would resume the reading of her engagement book for 
the following week. 

I soon grew tired of our Saturday-to-Monday tete-a- 
tetes and let her go on her own as they say in England. 
We gave a few parties, but as I found it difficult to 
separate my friends from their wives I gave it up — 
and usually spent my forty-eight hours going to Paris 
to see a play or to Ostend to indulge in it. 

It took me but a short time to become disgusted with 
our mode of living and alarmed at the expense involved. 
My clever wife adroitly managed to avoid all expense 
(although we had agreed to share it equally). Once in 
a while she would accidently leave her check book where 
I could see it and the stubs convinced me she was not 




In Nathan Hale 

"They hang Nat in the last act" 



AT JACKWOOD 259 

paying any of the household bills. Large sums were 
artfully arranged in a cipher which a Philadelphia 
lawyer or a writing expert could not fathom. 

"Cigarette case for A" might mean Arthur or Alice; 
"Luncheon to N" might be Nellie or Ned; "Sundries 
for M" might mean Mike or Mabel — and there you 
are. Wherever her money went she was contributing 
nothing to the maintenance of the home (which included 
the services of sixteen servants) ! 

I made up my mind to bring things to an issue — to 
use a slang expression, to vamp. Ugly rumors were 
rife concerning the attentions of the ex-Prime Minister, 
the Member of Parliament, two American millionaires, 
an English Lord and the leading man of Maxine's com- 
pany. I put Jackwood on the books of a real estate 
firm and placed my furniture in a storehouse together 
with the contents of my wine cellar (only to see them 
again, alas, adorning the home of my wife on Duke 
Street, London, a residence purchased during our 
marriage, to which I was never invited!). 

After I had tried so hard to entertain her at Jackwood 
I think her conduct most discourteous. 

Our life was very tranquil at Jackwood so far as we 
were personally concerned. Things went along pretty 
smoothly until we made a trip to Trouville for a holiday. 
I was privileged to enjoy myself alone most of the time 
as the fair Maxine would leave me early in the morning 
returning in time for dinner after a day's outing on the 
golf links accompanied by some English admirer. I 
spent most of my time gambling at the Casino, where I 
managed to lose thirty thousand dollars! And some ass 
has written: — 

" Unlucky in love, lucky at cards ! " 

Up to this time I considered my wife thoughtless and 
fond of admiration as all women are — but not worse 
than that. The only time she failed to exercise her 



260 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

diplomacy and splendid tact was during our sojourn at 
this French watering place. Perhaps my constant 
presence irritated her. There is nothing that so gets on 
one's nerves as the presence of someone who is a bore. 
I don't blame any woman for wanting to jump the 
traces under these conditions. The only thing I hold 
against her is that she never told me. It would have 
been very easy and I would willingly have released her 
from her misery, but to inform people by inference — 
to make a boob of me — was unkind, unjust and cruel. 

It never occurred to me that I was boring her until 
I came across a letter which fell into my hands quite by 
accident. My servant mistook it for a note addressed 
to me and placed it with several others he had pre- 
viously opened for my perusal. It furnished one of my 
reasons for divorcing the most beautiful woman in the 
world. Here it is: — 

Wednesday 
Dear Lord 

You see I don't quite dare say " " yet but you wait 

till we take our next walk together and I shall practice it every 
minute. You nice thing! I am delighted with the photograph — 
it stands before me as I write giving the modest room an air of 
fashion and I shall always keep it among my treasures. 

Aren't you lucky to be at with that blessed and as 

many attractive people; this place would bore you to death I think 
— the gaiety seems such hollow, tinsel-Iy sort; if it were not for 
golf I should find it intolerable. Unless one is filled with sporting 
blood and goes in for gambling at the races, one has a pretty dull 
time but then, England is the only place for me and my dolly is 
always stuffed with sawdust when I am away from it. Perhaps 
I shall have the good luck to see you in London. I get back 
Sept. ist but only as a bird of passage; probably we can't stay 
there even one night for I must go at once to the country to see 

my sister and stay with Lady from Sat. to Monday and sail 

the 7th which means Tuesday would be our only day in town I 
suppose. Alas! My love to you and don't forget me. I am filled 

with the most affectionate thoughts of you all at 

Maxine 



AT JACKWOOD 261 

Any man who could live with a woman who wrote 
such a letter does not deserve the name of man. I 
made up my mind to quit then and there and told her 
so. I gave her my reason, kept the letter and took the 
train for London and the boat for America — thirty 
thousand loser! 

Gee! but I had a bully summer! 

Maxine Elliott is a variously gifted woman. With the 
ambition of a Cleopatra she used me as a ladder to reach 
her goal and found her crowning glory in the blinding 
glare of a myriad incandescent lights which spell her 
name over the portals of a New York theatre. She is 
one of the cleverest women I ever met. Her dignity is 
that of a Joan of Arc, her demeanor Nero-like in its 
assertive quality and yet she has channels of emotion 
that manifest womanhood in the truest sense of the 
word. 



Chapter LIX 




"WHY DO BEAUTIFUL WOMEN MARRY 
NAT GOODWIN"? 

j|HY, oh why, do beautiful women marry 
Nat Goodwin? " 

I shall endeavor to answer that 
query so frequently put to me by the 
newspapers, not from any sense of 
obligation but simply in the spirit of 
anecdote. 

Time and again impertinent printed remarks have 
been made about my plunging into matrimony and there 
have appeared flaming headlines such as, "Bluebeard 
Goodwin Anticipates a Marriage" (or divorce!), "Red 
Headed Nat Contemplates Matrimony!" etc. 

These polite and complimentary references in the 
yellow journals appear as a rule annually. Generally 
they occupy half a page and are illustrated with pictures 
of the poor misguided creatures who had the misfor- 
tune to bear my name with my photograph stuck up in 
one corner (with a countenance suggesting more the 
physiognomy of a Bill Sykes than a Romeo!). Then 
some extremely clever reviewer of prize fights comes 
forth with this headline: — 

"Why do Beautiful Women Shake Nat Goodwin?" 

The scoffers, the envious, who know nothing about 

me except the fact that I have furnished paragraphers 

much material anent my "matrimonial forays," are 

inclined to credit my succession of beautiful wives for 

any success that I have attained. Matrimony may 

262 






BEAUTIFUL WOMEN AND NAT GOODWIN 263 

and often does breed notoriety and an actor's record 
may excite comment upon its endurance, but neither 
personal antics nor long service ever won a man genuine 
fame. 

Is it a crime to be respectable? Is it a crime jto have 
an honest fireside? 

I never stole any of my wives, neither were they ever 
forced into matrimony — with me. 

My friends who have been privileged to visit any 
home of mine will tell you that it was the abode of a 
lady and gentleman! 

This will jar my vilifiers. I have no right to be 
respectable and have a home. I am a brawler and a 
reveler, a drunkard and a gambler. Maybe. Yet with 
all these alleged vagaries I fail to remember any time 
when I dined a mistress at the same table with my wife 
and children — an incident in the career of a most 
conspicuous member of our profession who has the repu- 
tation of being possessed of supreme chastity. He 
prefers marshmallows -to champagne — stick licorice to 
Havana cigars. He married at the beginning of his 
career and is quite content to stand pat — with his head 
in the sand. 

I have often wondered if these self-elected critics of 
my actions would have refused any of the women whom 
I have had the privilege of marrying! 

Does it ever occur to them that a woman must first 
be interested in a man (in some little degree!) before 
allowing him the privilege of taking her hand in mar- 
riage? If she has a brain she understands his motives 
and even if moved by other reasons than that of affec- 
tion it is still she who decides to meet the issue. 

The women who married me had the reputation of 
being possessed of brain as well as beauty and all of 
them had tasted the sweets of matrimony before I came 
along. I wonder what these ebony-tipped-fmgered gen- 



264 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

tlemen who have marvelled at my success in the matri- 
monial field would say if they were privileged to glance 
at my visitors' book in use at Jackwood or in my West 
End Avenue home in New York! It would convince 
them that they never could have passed the butler! 

It has never been chronicled that the heads of the 
theatrical profession were my constant visitors. States- 
men, diplomats, lawyers, conspicuous public men from 
abroad, multi-millionaires (not forgetting one President) 
and some of the nobility have graced my board. This 
may have been the reason why one of the beautiful 
women married me! 

Fancy any of my critics writing that Lord had 

visited me, Senator dined with me, Marchioness 

accompanied me on a hunting trip! That would 

not be news — it's too clean! But they do cable to the 
remotest corner of the globe my presence at a prize 
fight. That is interesting matter — and news! How 
considerate of the feelings of one's aged parents who are 
forced to bear the brunt of their unwholesome lies! 
How I loathe these mephitic hounds who burglarize 
men's firesides, the pestilential pirates of women's homes 
who invade the sanctity of loving hearts, who write 
with pens steeped in venom! 



TRONf LI F C 

CARL BDH"?@! 




Wm. H. Thompson 

An artist to his finger tips 




Chapter LX 

BILLY THOMPSON 

HAT a splendid player is William H. 
Thompson — Bill as he is known to his 
friends! 

I have known him for over thirty years 
and have admired him in many r6les. 
An artist to his finger tips, he is obliged by 
existing conditions to fritter away his time in vaudeville 
instead of heading his own company or occupying a 
theatre as the bright particular star. *f * 

While the Favershams, Millers and Skinners are 
starring through the country at the head of their own 
companies this grand artist is compelled to stifle his 
ambitions in playhouses which feature performing 
elephants, negroes and monkeys! 

He tells me he is acting now only to gather enough 
shekels to make his passing down the other side of the 
mountain of life be unincumbered by financial diffi- 
culties. This is a sad situation — an actor willing and 
capable forced to humiliate himself while ignorant 
German comedians, song and dance men and incom- 
petent leading men foster their wares before a vacillating 
public. 

Well, perhaps things may change, but I fear not in 
dear Bill's day. The moving pictures reign supreme! 
Pantomime seems to gratify the multitude! 

Let the incense burn low and as it disappears let 
memories of the work of a master like Thompson cast 
its shadow on the pathway of the time to cornel 

265 




Chapter LXI 

THE CRITICS 

RAISE is the best diet after all." 

In an address before the National 
Press Club on November 17, 1909, the 
Hon. Henry Watterson had this to 
say: 

"Pretending to be the especial de- 
fenders of liberty we are becoming the invaders of 
private rights. No household seems any longer safe 
against intrusion. Our reporters are being turned into 
detectives. As surely as this is not checked, we shall 
grow to be the objects of fear and hatred, instead of 
trust and respect." 

"Shall grow!" As if you have not already grown, 
decayed and gone to seed, once more to be transplanted 
and again born, to invade the sanctity of homes and 
become the invaders of private rights! "Detectives" 
indeed! As a rule you are not even common cops! 

No wonder public men look upon such "journalists" 
with aversion and contempt and liken them to the police 
and the scavenger! No wonder honest journalists, like 
Watterson, antagonize such methods as are employed 
by the emissaries who represent the yellow journalism of 
our delightfully free country! 

Very often after reading one of the vilifying attacks 
made upon me (for no apparent reason other than to 
vent the writer's spleen or for lack of other material) 
I have wondered what effect it has had upon my asso- 
ciates, my audiences and my friends. It is wonderful 
how little the power of will asserts itself. Falsehood 

266 



THE CRITICS 267 

and scandal seldom concern any except those personally 
negligent. It is a pity that a critic who has so much 
power to do good and make happy the artist by a few 
kind words will use the weapon of the wood chopper. 
Fortunately you cannot make or unmake the artist of 
to-day. You may flaunt your accusations regarding his 
private life, but after all the good remains. 

I honestly believe that a true American man or 
woman derives more pleasure from reading an account 
of the happy marriage of Ethel Barrymore and the 
delightful coming of her first born than from the lurid 
announcement that Mary Mannering has at last secured 
her permanent release from the bonds of her unhappy 
alliance with James K. Hackett. It has taken me many 
years to come to this conclusion, and it was only after 
two years passed in silent retrospect among the flowers, 
hand in hand with nature in glorious California, that I 
determined to don again the sock and buskin. But I 
went back to my professional work with a clearer con- 
science, a lighter heart, a determination to pay little 
heed to the scoffers and a resolve to try to make the 
world laugh once more. 

He who rises above mediocrity is sure to incur the 
envy and hatred of the mediocre. I am astounded that 
I among so many should be selected as a perpetual 
target. Were I as egotistical as some of my critics say, 
the published reports of my vagaries and dissipations 
would have been as Balm in Gilead to my immoral 
soul! But such balm is far from any desire of mine. 
The unwholesome notoriety that I received during my 
absence in Australia shocked and grieved me and had 
it not been for the few good friends who gallantly came 
to my assistance with cheery words of encouragement 
my burden would have been too heavy to bear. 

With the greatest indignation I read the truly aston- 
ishing articles written about me during my exile. Away 



268 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

from home as we had been for months and always 
looking forward eagerly to the arrival of the American 
mail, it was a shock indeed to be deluged with highly 
sensational accounts of my divorce suit, a shock all the 
more disagreeable for the wholly unwarrantable dragging 
in of the name of one as completely ignorant of the 
entire matter as any one of you who may read this. 

For years I have been brutally assailed by certain 
members of our press who have disliked the color of 
my hair or the shape of my nose. As I alone have been 
the victim of these assaults, I have not wearied the pub- 
lic with constant denials, realizing the futility of the 
"apology" our great dailies vouchsafe when they are 
proven to be in the wrong. This generous " apology" 
may be found in an obscure corner of the paper, in very 
small print, weeks after columns and columns have 
spicily set forth the details of one's supposed wrong 
doings. And this is all we get by way of reparation 
from our traducers. 

Here is the article, written by the Hon. Henry 
Watterson in the Louisville "Courier Journal," January 
io, 1895, to which I have referred: 

"In the course of an interview with one of our local 
contemporaries Mr. Nat C. Goodwin, the eminent 
comedian, takes occasion to correct some recent stories 
circulated to his disadvantage and to protest against 
that species of journalism which seeks to enrich itself 
by the heedless sacrifice of private character. 

"Since no one has suffered more in this regard than 
Mr. Goodwin himself he has certainly the right to speak 
in his own behalf and at the same time he has a claim 
upon the consideration of a public which owes so great 
a debt to his genius. As a matter of fact, however, 
Mr. Goodwin is just beginning to realize the seriousness 
of life and the importance of his own relation to the art 
of which he has long been an unconscious master. 



THE CRITICS 269 

"With an exuberance of talent rivaled only by his 
buoyancy of spirit, uniting to extraordinary conversa- 
tional resources a personal charm unequaled on or off 
the stage, he has scattered his benefactions of all kinds 
with a lavish disregard of consequences and that disdain 
for appearances which emanates, in his case, from a 
frank nature, incapable of intentional wrong and uncon- 
scious of giving cause for evil report. 

"He is still a very young man, but he has been and is 
a great, over-grown boy; fearless and loyal; as open as 
the day; enjoying the abundance which nature gave 
him at his birth, which his professional duties have 
created so profusely around about him and seeking to 
have others enjoy it with him. But, before all else, it 
ought to be known by the public that he amply pro- 
vides for those having the best claim upon his bounty; 
that he is not merely one of the most generous of 
friends, but one of the most devoted of sons, and that 
it can be truly said that no one ever suffered through 
any act of his. 

"To a man of so many gifts and such real merits 
the press and the public might be more indulgent even 
if Mr. Goodwin were as erratic as it is sometimes said 
he is. But he is not so in the sense sought to be 
ascribed to him. He never could have reached the 
results, which each season we see re-enforced by new 
creations, except at the cost of infinite painstaking, 
conscientious toil; for, exquisite and apparently spon- 
taneous as his art is, he is pre-eminently an intellectual 
actor and it is preposterous to suppose that he has not 
been a thoughtful, laborious student, finding his relief 
in moments of relaxation, which may too often have 
lapsed into unguarded gayety, but which never de- 
generated into vulgarity or wantonness. Indeed the 
warp and woof of Mr. Goodwin's character are wholly 
serious. 



270 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

"He is a most unaffected, affectionate man and with 
the recognition which the world is giving him as the 
foremost comedian of his time, the inevitable and 
natural successor to the great Jefferson, it is safe to 
predict that he will fall into his place with the ready 
grace that sits upon all he says and does. 

"Meanwhile the boys in the City Editor's Room 
ought to use more blue and less red in pencilling the 
coming and going of one so brilliant and so gentle and, 
in all that they have a right to take note of, so un- 
offending." 

God bless you, Marse Henry! 

The avidity with which the average penny-a-liners 
scent failure is only equaled by the blatant exposition 
of their reviews. They are like a lot of sheep huddled 
together, vainly endeavoring to emerge from the per- 
fume of their own manure to flaunt their individual 
opinions before the garrulous public which itself is only 
too willing to proclaim "the king is dead!" 

Senator Arthur Pugh Gorman once told me that 
failures were a good remedy for success and brought 
people to a realization of their own unimportance. 
Granted, if failure were individual, but as failure does 
not as a rule affect only one's self it is hard to administer 
the doses of the plural to mitigate the humiliation of 
the singular. 

Has it ever occurred to the average critic that when a 
play fails not only the author and the leading artist 
are submerged in the vortex of despair, but all the 
tributaries of the enterprise go down with the ship? 
But what do they care — when many of the successful 
actors proclaim to the world that they enjoy their 
"art" — succeeding or failing! — and respect the re- 
viewers of their work? I regret that many of them are 
only too willing to assist the critics in tearing down the 
structure of the successful player. 



THE CRITICS 271 

Some time ago I had a long talk with a comedian, 
short and very funny, on and off the stage. He is a 
true artist, a wit, gentle in his methods and a truly 
legitimate comedian. He was complaining of the exist- 
ing conditions of the stage and assured me that it was 
only the lack of funds which compelled him to remain 
upon the boards to make the public laugh; that he was 
praying for the time when he could forget his gifts and 
leave the stage forever. 

The little chap has worked like a galley slave for 
years. I know of one period in his career when he 
produced three consecutive failures in an equal number 
of weeks in a New York theatre; produced them and 
incurred all the risks — and finally landed the fourth a 
winner. He is constantly producing new material and 
to-day a New York playhouse displays an electric sign 
which spells his name. Yet he desires to leave the stage 
forever! Of course, he does! What honest actor does 
not? 

Another artist, a friend of mine who has played to 
the largest receipts ever known in the history of the 
stage, told me recently that he was going to give it up, 
imparting to me the fact that he could no longer stand 
the humiliation and the heartaches he was forced to 
endure! 

The attitude of these gifted players is as an oasis in 
the desert of incompetency and convinces me that 
irrespective of the type that spells inadequacy and 
commercial success for a few of the ephemeral stars 
there are some self-respecting actors left who refuse to 
accompany these unworthy disciples down the narrow 
path that must lead to an eventual eclipse. 

What an unthinking person is the average front-of- 
the-curtain speech maker! Fancy thanking an audience 
for the privilege of entertaining it! It has always 
struck me as being ludicrous. But I can sympathize 



272 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

with an actor thanking an audience for sitting out a 
failure! 

I believe it was Charles Lamb or someone equally 
clever who remarked, "Apprentices are required for 
every trade, save that of critic; he is ready-made." 

How truel 

Critics — what a queer lot ! — are generally foes to 
art — from Dr. Johnson down to those of the present 
day. Seldom sponsors, always antagonistic, jealous and 
even venomous, they are eager to tear down citadels of 
honest thought and houses of worthy purpose! They 
remain hostile until the continued success of their victim 
compels a truce. And how cravenly they acknowledge 
defeat! Like the shot coyote they will only fight when 
wounded. 

The reviewer of a prize fight will comment upon a 
picture; criticize sculpture, literature, acting! 

Why should the average critic know anything about 
acting when his horizon does not extend beyond the ill— 
ventilated room containing his trunk filled with the 
manuscripts which he has not succeeded in having 
produced? Conscious of the revenues of the successful 
playwrights of the day he criticizes with venom in his 
drab heart and vitriol in his ink-bottle! No wonder he 
enjoys storming the forts of prosperity! 

But what gets on my nerves is the attention given 
some of these penny-a-liners by the average American 
manager-producer who cull the complimentary expres- 
sions of these incompetents and print them conspicu- 
ously upon their posters. To add further insult to the 
honest player most of the yellow journals photograph 
these critics, heading the columns of their uninstructive 
matter with their faces! 

Shades of Lamb, Hazlitt, and George Henry Lewes! 

I wonder how many readers cut out the pictures of 
those little cherubs, "Alan Dale" and " Vance' ' Thomp- 



THE CRITICS 273 

son, and paste them in their scrap books? I utilized 
their pictures beautifying (!) two cuspidors in my home 
— and they are always in constant use! 

My antagonism to the critics is not sweeping. I have 
the most supreme respect for the memory of such critics 
as the late Mr. Clapp of Boston, Mr. McPhelim of 
Chicago, Clement Scott and Joseph Knight of London, 
Mr. Wiliard of Providence, "Brick" Pomeroy, Joseph 
Bradford and Frank Hatton. I have the same regard 
for some of the living critics including, the Hon. Henry 
Watterson, Arthur Warren, James O'Donnell Bennett, 
Philip Hale, Blakely Hall, Amy Leslie, George Goodale, 
Ashton Stevens, Lyman P. Glover, Lawrence Reamer, 
Elwyn Barron, Stilson Hutchins, Marion Reedy and 
many others. These gentlemen know whereof they 
write and never allow personalities to enter their critical 
views. But for those effeminate, puerile, sycophantic, 
dogmatic parasites who live from hand to mouth, who 
bite the hands that feed them, whose exposed palms are 
always in evidence (to receive the stipends that warp 
their supposed knowledge of the art) — I have an equal 
amount of disgust. 

"Alan Dale" whose real name is Cohen called on me 
some years ago in Paris with instructions from his 
master, Mr. Hearst, to interview me. 

I sent my servant to tell him to come up and arranged 
the furniture for his reception (I did not care to pay for 
breakage and I was afraid his thick skull might destroy 
some of the bric-a-brac if he fell where I intended he 
should fall!). I set the scene for him, but when he 
entered and I contemplated this little, self-opinionated, 
arrogant, subservient, and grovelling person I asked 
myself "What's the use?" — gave him an interview and 
dismissed him. 

I felt only pity for the poor, little, puny hireling! 

(Since the above was penned I have read a most 



274 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

complimentary criticism of my Fagin in "Oliver Twist" 
written by "Alan Dale." Consequently the above 
remarks "don't go!") 

An astute gentleman on one of the Chicago papers, 
gushing over "the great art of Mr. John Hare" as old 
Eccles in "Caste," wrote: 

"What a remarkable metamorphosis it was to see Mr. 
Hare, the quiet, dignified man of the world, in his 
dressing-room discussing his profession when, a few 
moments before, he had been depicting the drunken 
sot with shaggy eyebrows, dishevelled hair, unkempt 
beard and filthy clothes!" 

This he considered the art of acting. I call it the art 
of make-up. He further annoyed me by saying, "This 
should be a lesson to some of our comedians, who fancy 
themselves actors, who simply come on the stage, speak 
fat lines and have only to appear natural." 

"Only to appear natural!" I happen to know the 
critic who wrote the above article. He is a remarkably 
graceful man and a most proficient golf player. Now 
taking him at his word I should like to place that 
gentleman in a conspicuous place on my stage, in even- 
ing dress, and have him rise, walk across the stage, ask 
the servant to assist him on with his coat, bid the other 
characters good night and make an exit. He would, 
I am sure, cease chiding any actor for being "natural." 
It is far easier to be somebody else on the stage, with 
the aid of wig and grease paint, than to appear as one's 
self. 

No one fails to recognize Bernhardt or Duse. Neither 
did Booth nor Forrest sink his individuality or hide his 
face, like the ancient Greeks, behind a mask. I'll wager 
that if Mr. Hare had been an American the hound 
would have objected to the Hare's disguise! 

One of the most natural actors whom I ever saw on 
any stage and who never by any possible chance en- 



THE CRITICS 275 

deavored to destroy his identity was William Warren. 
He was and is considered by the elect the finest come- 
dian that American has ever produced. I wish my golf 
player could have enjoyed the privilege of seeing that 
grand old man play Eccles! 

Every great actor that we have sent abroad for the 
past fifty years has signally failed (with one single 
exception and he assured me that his largest house was 
a trifle over $600 and he had a play written or rather 
re-written by one of the most popular of English 
authors). With three exceptions no one has ever failed, 
man or woman, who has come to us from foreign 
shores. 

It is "the thing" to applaud the efforts of all Euro- 
pean actors. It is far different in England. I am cer- 
tain there is no prevailing antagonism because of the 
fact that we are Americans, but the public as a rule 
does not understand our methods and is quite content 
with its own. I only wish that we could absorb its 
temperament. It does get on my nerves, though, when 
shiploads of English actors visit America, simply to 
enable them to replenish their impoverished bank 
accounts at home. 

How long will it last? 

I wonder! 

However, when any foreigner visits our country with 
a determination to make it his permanent abode and 
does so I always wish him well. Take for instance 
Edward H. Sothern. If ever a man deserved the posi- 
tion he has attained Sothern does, if only for his energy 
and tenacity of purpose. 

Of course, in any other country than America, he 
could never have succeeded. 

Even in this country, surrounded as he is by an over 
production of filth, to make Shakespeare a paying in- 
vestment is an achievement of which to be proud. 



276 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

I am not airing any opinion of his artistic work, as I 
have been privileged to witness only his performance 
of "Hamlet." I have also seen Charles Fechter, E. L. 
Davenport and Edwin Booth as the Dane, which nat- 
urally prejudices me in my criticism of Sothern's per- 
formance! But any man who has the courage to 
announce his intention of playing "Macbeth" for one 
week (and does it!) deserves a place in the Hall of 
Fame! 

Mr. Sothern deserves the congratulations of the 
American public — for getting away with it ! 

And for all I've written in this chapter I must confess 
that — 

Observation makes critics of us all! 

Also — 

While I have confined my attention to the so-called 
critics I have not forgotten that there are other men 
engaged in the newspaper business and of these — 

The average reporter reminds me of the little boy 
with a pea shooter. He bears malice towards no one in 
particular but — he's got a pea shooter! 




Chapter LXII 

JAMES A. HEARNE 

T the time James A. Hearne gave me the 
photograph which accompanies this chap- 
ter he was one of the best actors, if not 
the best actor who spoke any language 
— in my estimation. He was then well 
into the fifties and for two score years 
had run the gamut from Bill Sykes (and he was king in 
that role) to the tender Nathan'I in that best of Ameri- 
can plays, "Shore Acres." 

The reproduction of the inscription which Hearne 
wrote on the back of his photograph shows that the old 
gentleman was not without a keen sense of humor. 

I knew him all my stage life and in my eyes he was 
always a most wonderful person. In his early days he 
was prone to much dissipation, even to ruffianism; but 
he always drank and fought before the world. He was 
honest even when violently inclined. He never sneaked 
up back alleys to fight a foe, but met him in the open — 
no hiring of rooms in which to get drunk but at the 
open door where all could see him. And even in those 
days everybody loved the man. 

In his later life he used his great mentality and be- 
came a real man, a beatific creature. 
He married three times. 

His first wife was the distinguished Lucille Western, 
a most wonderful natural, emotional actress. It is said 
she has made more money in a single season than any 
other star of any time. Her first husband, James 

277 



278 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

Meade, a New York gambler, told me he handed her 
personally more than $600,000 in forty-two weeks! This 
was during the Civil War. 

And she died in poverty! 

Herself a spendthrift, she was ably assisted in dissipat- 
ing her fortune by both Meade and Hearne. Her death 
followed her marriage to William Whalley, a ne'er-do- 
well but clever actor and at that time a great Bowery 
favorite. 

After Lucille's death Hearne married her sister Helen, 
one of the most beautiful women ever born. They were 
very unhappy and a divorce speedily ended their union. 

From this time Hearne's career showed a marked 
change. He died nearly a Christian! 

Behind him he left his third wife, a most brilliant, 
clever woman who helped to bring about his regenera- 
tion, several successful plays and two talented daughters, 
Julie and Chrystal Hearne. 



It is just as natural for two human beings, brought 
constantly in contact with each other, to mate as it is 
for birds and animals. 



A man of genius, if he marries at all, should marry a 
peasant. 




James A. Hearne 

He knew how poor Sol "Jell" 

1 At^. Lf+*^ p^ atCc 



fifris /^ 




±y A^P&T^-tr-^ 



Chapter LXIII 
EDDIE FOY 




man's being father of six or 
eight children — and then 



ANCY a 

seven or 

adopting an additional brace! What a 
heart, what a great, big, fine heart has 
a man like that! 
And this is what Eddie Foy has done. 
Eddie Foy is a unique character in the American 
drama. Aside from his prowess as a disciple of that 
theory which measures patriotism by infants he is the 
greatest clown our stage has ever known. And he takes 
his clowning very seriously. 

I always like to hear Eddie Foy talk. I enjoy being 
with him. He is a true comedian. 

It happened I was his fellow voyager on his first 
passage across the Atlantic. He was on his way to meet 
his bride, an Italian woman. (Fancy my listening to 
rhapsodies about a bride — not my own !) 

They are a numerous family — and as happy as num- 
erous. He is a most generous and home-loving person 
for all his fondness for his clubs. 

I love to hear him talk about playing Hamlet. 
He really thinks he can! 
Perhaps he's right. 
I wonder. 



279 



Chapter LXIV 
WILLIAM GILLETTE 



33E 



aTWTtfTtfffrftPC 



EOBBQ WAS standing, many years ago, in the 
lobby of the Parker House, Boston, 
speaking to the late Louis Aldrich, an 
old and esteemed friend of mine, who 
had just made a tremendous success in 
a play written by the late Bartley 
Campbell, called "My Partner," when a gaunt, thin and 
anaemic person suddenly approached us and grasping 
Louis by the arm said, "I saw your play last night, 
great house, splendid performance, bad play," and left 
us as quickly as he came. "Who is that chap?" I 
asked. — "Oh, he is a young crank," said Aldrich, "who 
has written a play he wants me to produce called 
'The Professor,' not a bad play, but he insists upon 
playing the leading role." "He looks more like a chemist 
than an actor," I replied. 

Several years after I was negotiating with the late 
A. M. Palmer, to produce a play called "The Private 
Secretary," but, unfortunately, strolling into the Boston 
Museum pending the negotiations, I witnessed an 
adaptation of "The Private Secretary," taken from the 
German I believe, called "Nunky," excellently played 
by the Stock Company. Having four weeks booking at 
the Park Theatre in Boston the ensuing season, where I 
intended playing "The Private Secretary," if my nego- 
tiations with Palmer proved successful, I called every- 
thing off, as I did not desire to enter into competition 
with Ian Robertson, who was scoring immensely in the 

280 



WILLIAM GILLETTE 281 

character of "The Private Secretary," which I con- 
templated doing. 

Shortly after Palmer secured an injunction against 
"Nunky," and I witnessed the performance of "The 
Private Secretary," at the Madison Square Theatre in 
New York, to a packed house, and the so-called crank I 
had previously met with Aldrich at the Parker House, 
in Boston, was playing the leading role. His name 
was William Gillette. 

William is a very quaint person, and even to this day, 
many people call him a crank. He may be eccentric, 
all geniuses are, but he is a very able man, one of the 
best American dramatists, and a most excellent actor, 
particularly when playing the hero of one of his own 
plays. He has no natural repose and is possessed of 
very little magnetism. He certainly has a personality 
however and has solved the problem of standing still like 
the center pole of a merry-go-around in all his plays, 
successfully contriving to arrange his scenes so that his 
characters rush around him, while he stands motionless 
in the center, giving the impression of great repose. 
This is a splendid trick but only permissible to actors 
who pay themselves their own author's fees. 

I once saw Gillette play a character I had previously 
seen Guitry perform in Paris, and I must confess that 
Gillette suffered by comparison. In this play he had to 
move and he proved he was no sprinter. An English 
critic, a friend of mine who had witnessed the perform- 
ance of Gillette in "Too Much Johnson" and "Held by 
the Enemy" remarked, "This man Gillette is a most 
confusing person. If I did not know the plot of his 
plays, I could not tell whether he was playing the 
villain or hero." 

I do not know if Gillette ever realized his limitations, 
but I fancy he did, for he succeeded unquestionably in 
cultivating a pose, an air of, ' please don't approach me, 



282 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

I am too much absorbed/ etc. I have seen him enter a 
drawing room in London, and by his presence stop all 
conversation. Apparently oblivious to his surroundings, 
he would enter, stop at the door, locate his host or 
hostess, say a few epigrammatic things in a hard rasping 
nasal voice, acknowledge the presence of a few friends by 
a casual nod and quickly take his leave. The conversation 
for the next hour would be devoted to the man who had 
entered and left so unceremoniously. "What an eccen- 
tric person," "how unique," "what personality," "splen- 
did presence," would be heard from all sides. 

This pose, eccentricity, or whatever you call it, may 
be assumed or natural, I do not know which, but it is 
effective if you can get away with it. Mansfield did it 
successfully, Barrett and Arnold Daly tried it and failed, 
Booth had the gift. 

Perhaps the cause of Gillette's eccentricity is his liver, 
a successful man with a poor digestion can do most 
anything out of the ordinary, if he has courage and 
money. The rush of blood to the head causing a twitch- 
ing of the lips when observed, may mean to the on- 
looker the concentration of thought; a scowl brought 
about by a pain in the abdominal cavity may suggest 
the villain of the yet to be born play contemplating the 
ruin of the heroine, and there you are. Every act, 
every suggestion, every attitude of the successful author 
or actor has a hidden meaning. 

The gyrations of the successful Gillette proved so 
effective, I am told, that he has invested part of his 
fortune in a headache powder. 

I have known Mr. Gillette, thirty years, not inti- 
mately; there are few who enjoy that privilege. He is 
a reticent person, very difficult to fathom, easy of 
manner, courteous and refined, a gentleman at all times, 
splendid playwright, a fine exponent of character in all 
Jifs plays, and a man of whom America should be proud. 




Chapter LXV 

WILLIAM BRADY, ESQ. 

j»ROM a vendor of peanuts on the South- 
ern Pacific Railroad, to the owner of two 
New York playhouses, and the manager 
of more than a dozen theatrical enter- 
prises in twenty-five years, is the history 
of "Bill" Brady, the man who made 
James Corbett the champion pugilist of the world. 

Brady is a man with the courage of his own convic- 
tions. He will stand by any production he finances in 
the face of overwhelming defeat, and cease to present 
it only when the managers refuse to give him time. No 
matter what the box office returns are, the play remains 
on if Brady fancies it. 

He is an excellent judge of untried plays and seldom 
produces a failure. Being a very good actor, irrespec- 
tive of his managerial capacity, he will jump in and 
play any part at a moment's notice if necessary. He 
has done this many times during his career and thus 
saved the closing of the theatre. 

His married life is most happy, Grace George and two 
splendid children, together with a charming residence on 
Riverside Drive, New York, make a peaceful fireside 
and a haven for the tired "Billie," when worn out by 
worries of office life and travel. 

We have been friends for many years and I always 
enjoy his society immensely. 

May good luck and well deserved success attend you, 
William Brady, Esq. 

283 



Chapter LXVI 
ROBERT FORD 



\f — I g 

=3 ^ r-J 1 



HAVE as little patience with the theory 
that one's character is patently defined 
in one's physiognomy as with that other 
sophism concerning the leaking out of 
truth as wine "leaks in." Look at the 
accompanying photograph. Is there 
anything in that frank, boyish countenance which even 
suggests a cold blooded, conscienceless murderer? Yet 
the young gentleman was not only a murderer, he was 
that most despicable of human hounds — the betrayer 
of his friend. 

It was one night many years ago in Kansas City, in a 
pool parlor to be exact, that I first saw this young 
scoundrel. I was playing pool with a stranger who had 
been introduced as "Mr. Hunter." My attention was 
directed toward the boy by the singular behavior of my 
friendly antagonist. No matter where "Mr. Hunter" 
had to go around the table to make a shot he never 
allowed his back to be turned toward the door nor 
toward the young man who sat peacefully in one corner 
of the smoke-filled room and gazed benignly, if steadily, 
at "Mr. Hunter." Intuitively I knew questions would 
not be welcomed and I stilled my curiosity. 

The next day I joined the throngs which travelled over 

to St. Joe to see the remains of the notorious Jesse 

James who had been shot dead in his own home. There, 

lying on a bed, was all that was left of my "Mr. Hunter!" 

Two weeks later in a Turkish bath I recognized my 

284 




Robert Ford 

"A cold-blooded, conscienceless murderer 



ROBERT FORD 285 

young gentleman of the pool parlor. He was not averse 
to talking and presently informed me that he was 
Robert Ford, murderer of Jesse James. This explana- 
tion followed my expression of surprise on discovering 
that he had a villainous-looking revolver in his hand — 
in the steam room! He explained his life was not worth 
a cent because of his murder of James and he was 
taking no chances of being caught unarmed. 

We chatted for two hours — agreeably ! After a bit 
he told me all about his life with Jesse James — how 
he had been befriended by the bandit. Casually he 
described the killing and laughed as if it were a great 
joke that he had had to wait eighteen months for James 
to turn his back toward him! 

"That is," he added, "long enough for me to get out 
my gun and kill him." 

He admitted readily that had it not been for the fact 
that James grew to have a positive affection for and 
belief in him he never would have succeeded in his 
murderous scheme. 

"But finally," he concluded laughingly, "he fell for 
me — whole — and I got my chance." 

I asked him how he could bring himself to do such a 
foul murder. 

"Well," he replied thoughtfully, as if wishing to be 
literally truthful, "the Governor offered a reward for 
him dead or alive — and I needed *he money." 

Not excepting even Benedict Arnold this boy was the 
most universally despised individual this country ever 
produced. He drifted further West after the murder 
and became one of the most desperate characters those 
lawless days ever knew. He met his end in a bar room 
in Cripple Creek. That time he tried to shoot a man 
whose back was not turned! 

Yet what physiognomist could read in this boyish face 
such dastardy as Robert Ford delighted in? 




Chapter LXVII 

MORE PLAYS 

F George Broadhurst had not promised 
me the first call on his play "Bought 
and Paid For" I should have been saved 
another failure. It was on the strength 
of his promise that I should be the first 
to read the manuscript of what was 
destined to become his biggest money-making success 
that I agreed to produce "The Captain." I kept my 
agreement and scored up against myself a costly fizzle. 
Broadhurst broke his word — and I never saw "Bought 
and Paid For" until I bought and paid for a seat! 

And this in face of the fact that Broadhurst spent 
most of his time with me at my house on the beach in 
California while he was working out the plot of the 
play! (And I later discovered he had not refused to 
take advantage of at least one of my freely offered sug- 
gestions — to make the biggest climactic moment of the 
action!) 

Failures were becoming not only frequent, they were 
getting to be a habit! 

"A Native Son" was my next venture. It was writ- 
ten by James Montgomery, author of "Ready Money," 
and it was as perfect a failure as "Ready Money" was a 
success! It was an awful thing. I wonder that I ever 
produced it. 

At last I had had my fill of trying to discover the 
great American play — and headed for my California 
home to rest — and think! 

286 



MORE PLAYS 287 

That period didn't Iasrlong. It never has. 

Presently George C. Tyler (who is Liebler & Company) 
got in touch with me, the outcome of it being that I 
signed a three-years' contract with him on the under- 
standing that I should get as my first vehicle under his 
management an original play by Booth Tarkington. 

In due course Tarkington completed "Cameo Kirby." 
In my thirty-nine years of experience on the stage I 
never played a character I liked so well as this delight- 
ful, urbane, Southern gentleman-gambler. I gave him a 
Southern dialect and the production all the touches of 
the real South of that early era I could invent. The 
audiences seemed to like my interpretation; but the 
press was divided. Sensing what would happen to me 
in New York I refused to go into that city and sur- 
rendered the role to Mr. Dustin Farnum. 

With Farnum in the title role "Cameo Kirby" failed 
in New York exactly as I had it predicted. Farnum 
made a success with the play on the road, however. His 
youth, beauty and simple delivery were the opposites 
of my characterization — and he succeeded where I 
failed! 

I was delighted to hear of Dustin's success. I am 
very fond of him and of his brother Bill and I consider 
them both excellent players. 




Chapter LXVIII 

WILLIE COLLIER 

HAT a quaint, clever, original comedian 
is Willie Collier! 

He is as companionable with those he 
likes as are flowers in a meadow. His 
meadow is very limited, however, as he 
likes but few. He believes, as I do, 
that the environment of friends should be narrow. 

Willie insists upon being addressed as William by the 
majority. Only the few, among whom I am a privileged 
member, may call him Willie! 

His wit scintillates like forked lightning and he 
possesses sarcasm equal to that of a Douglas Jerrold. 
Many authors can attribute " their" success to Willie's 
wit. His personality off the stage is rather stern for a 
comedian — in the opinion of the majority. But his 
acting has conquered three countries — America, Aus- 
tralia and England! 

I could fill pages with his wit, but the one first to 
come to my mind must suffice. 

For some reason Willie dislikes the Players Club. 
(Perhaps it is because one sees so few actors there!) 
It was during the first all-star gambol of the Lambs Club 
that Willie sprang a joke at the Players' expense — a 
joke that has since come to be a classic. 

We travelled palatially on this Lambs tour, in fine, 
private cars, magnificently fitted, and with our every 
comfort catered to. As we were pulling out of Syracuse 
in our train de luxe, a dingy engine pulling a dirty 

288 



WILLIE COLLIER 289 

caboose passed us on the other track. We were at 
dinner. Willie wiped his lips with his napkin and 
remarked quietly: 

"Boys, there goes the Players Club back to New 
York." 

I have known him for more than twenty years. His 
late partner, Charlie Reed, was as dear to me as Willie 
is. We three had many good times. Poor Charlie 
passed away years ago and Willie, left alone, has 
struggled bravely to earn his now well-merited success. 
, I have known him to produce three successive failures 
in as many weeks — and come forth smiling ! 

After the second failure I suggested that he come 
down to the footlights the night of his third premiere 
and salute his audience with, "Well, here I am again." 

Willie Collier asked the volatile Hopper why he had 
failed to invite him to one of his weddings. Hopper 
promised him that he would — to his next ! 

A few of those who pose as my critics might do worse 
than to marry — once in a while. It would at least save 
expense ! 

The world is better with such men as Charlie Reed 
and Willie Collier as occupants. I hope that Willie 
will come dancing down the sun, casting his wit and 
humor to all the pessimistic censors of the drama for 
years to come. 




Chapter LXIX 

HENRY MILLER 

WHOLESOME and natural actor is 
Henry Miller with all the technique of 
our art at his finger tips, he is a splendid 
stage manager. Had he the facilities at 
his command I am sure he would rank 
equally with David Belasco and the late 
Henry Irving — as a master producer. 

What I like about Miller's acting is his exquisite 
touch and splendid repose. I have known him for more 
than twenty years and have followed his career steadily 
— from the days of the old Empire Stock Company 
(where he was surrounded by such artists as Billy 
Thompson, Viola Allen and William Faversham) down 
to his most recent vehicle, "The Rainbow." And al- 
ways he has proved equal to his task. 

I may be prejudiced in his favor because I am so fond 
of him personally. He has exquisite charm off the stage 
as well as on. I always anticipate joyfully meeting him 
and indulging in our little dressing-room chats. 

Miller is an artist and a gentleman and an ornament 
to the American stage. 



290 




Chapter LXX 

WHAT'S IN A NAME? 

Y memory was never my strong point. 
As I approach maturity ( !) I find to my 
surprise that it is growing better rather 
than worse. But perhaps it couldn't 
grow worse! 

Nevertheless the time I won the 
world's championship as the prize forgetter I really 
didn't deserve it. It happened early in the divorce pro- 
ceedings I had instituted at Reno against Maxine 
Elliott. 

Pardon an interjection; but I must express my sur- 
prise here that so many men and women I meet are all 
laboring under the delusion that I have always been on 
the receiving end of divorce actions! No less recently 
than June, 19 13, I had the pleasure of reading in the 
New York "Evening World" a very clever article con- 
cerning my kinship with Bluebeard, and Solomon, and 
Henry the Eighth in the course of which the young 
woman who wrote the article declared I was "more 
divorced against than divorcing!" The truth is quite 
the reverse of this and it seems to me should be so easy 
of confirmation as to admit of no uncertainty in any- 
one's mind, however much my reputation makes it seem 
as if I should be the "divorced against" half of any 
match! Three divorces have marked my matrimonial 
experiences. I obtained two and by dint of hard work 
and much skirmishing (and for purely business reasons) 
managed to help my fourth wife obtain her freedom 
from me! 

291 



292 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

Before the thought of divorcing Maxine had entered 
my head, in fact while we were still living at Jackwood, 
I had become interested in the mining game and after 
the denouement at Trouville I headed straight for Reno. 
Even then I think it was rather my purpose to get into 
the mining gamble head over heels than to make the 
divorce center of America my "legal residence ,, that led 
me to Nevada. I'll admit that my establishing my 
business headquarters at Reno proved a great con- 
venience! 

The proceedings were well under way and I was on 
the stand as a witness when the judge asked me the 
name of my wife before I married her. I told him it 
was Hall. 

"That's not what she says," replied the judge severely. 

And then it developed that when her answer to my 
complaint had been returned to the court she signed 
herself McDermott. 

"But that is the name of her first husband," I ex- 
plained. "Her maiden name is Hall." 

"She swears her maiden name is McDermott," quoth 
the judge. 

"Well, her brother's name is Hall," I insisted. I 
always supposed it was her name too." 

"Great Scott!" thundered the judge. "Don't you 
know your own wife's name?" 

"No, not if it isn't Hall," I responded. 

Then it developed that Maxine's maiden name was 
McDermott, sure enough. The McDermott she married 
was no relation. Her brother had assumed the name of 
Hall. 

But after all — what's in a name? 




Chapter LXXI 

I TRY BEING A BUSINESS MAN 

HILE spending a holiday at Glen wood 
Springs, Colorado, I met a man from 
Goldfield, Nevada. He was fresh from 
the mining camp then just blossoming 
into great public notice and he knew in 
detail all the stories of its vast mineral 
products. His name was Brewer, not that it matters, 
and he had all the swagger and bluster of a mining 
magnate. In no time at all he had convinced everyone 
in the hotel, including me, that he was one of the lucky 
ones who had struck it rich in that land of gold! 

He literally threw money broadcast. Bell boys 
sprinted in a continuous marathon to and from the 
telegraph office with voluminous messages Brewer sent 
and received. The guests spent most of their time 
admiring and envying this Croesus. For my part I 
found my gambling blood becoming aroused at his 
wondrous recitals of the possibilities of this strange 
country. When he invited me to attend the Gans- 
Nelson prize fight at Goldfield I accepted with alacrity. 
At Reno we found a private car awaiting us and we 
were conveyed the remaining two hundred miles to the 
scene of the fistic encounter in royal state. What an 
exciting two hundred miles they were! Brewer, who 
had proved a most hospitable gentleman, planned our 
having the car for our exclusive use, but before we had 
journeyed half the distance from Reno to Goldfield that 
car was crowded to suffocation! His impromptu guests 

293 



294 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

included gamblers, fighters, thieves, soubrettes, mer- 
chants, miners, lawyers! It was a conclave as interest- 
ing as it was motley. 

Thus, sans sleep, we rolled into Goldfield. 

What an exciting place it was! It reminded me of 
another primitive community in Nevada, Virginia City, 
which I had visited twenty years earlier. Here were 
the same lack of civilization, utter abandon, tent houses 
by the hundreds, a few straggling brick and adobe 
buildings and the inevitable long street running from 
end to end of the town. On this occasion the street 
was filled with a howling mob of men and women — 
rabid fight fans. 

Scores of derricks and piles and piles of ore dumped 
on the sides of operating mines, not to mention hundreds 
of prospects and claims, told the veriest stranger that 
here was a mining town. Every other door led into a 
gambling house or a saloon. 

As you contemplated the arid desert utterly devoid of 
vegetation, hemmed in by huge mountains themselves 
great uplifts of barren rock, you marvelled at the courage 
of the first man who made bold to enter that land of 
devastation and dust. To see that transplanted Brocken 
scene trodden by people from every part of the globe 
made me stop and ponder. What will man not do for 
gold? To be sure a greater part of this mob was at- 
tracted to Goldfield by the fight; but the aftermath was 
horrible to contemplate, the time when only those 
remained who gambled on what they hoped to find 
under the crust called earth. I realized that truly this 
was the country of the survival of the fittest. 

A mining camp is a cesspool in which the unfortunate 
ones wish for death and a mecca for a certain type of 
speculators, the latter almost as numerous as the 
former. A poor man has a better chance on Broadway! 
The desert is no place for him. A practical miner can 




As Cameo Kirby 

/ never played a character I liked so well 






I TRY BEING A BUSINESS MAN 295 

earn a fair living, but invariably he squanders it all on 
the green cloth. The wanderer has an ephemeral 
existence living upon the bounty of the workman who 
never refuses him a drink or a stack of white chips — 
if he is winning. As he seldom wins the wanderer 
(under this caption I include all those outcasts who 
form a veritable scum in mining camps) finds little 
chance to recoup his fortunes at the gambling table. 
The desert for such as these is a prison difficult to escape 
from. 

After the fight Brewer persuaded me to remain as his 
guest for a few days. He had a pretentious dwelling, 
as dwellings in Goldfield went, and continued to fill the 
role of host admirably. I was already seized with a 
spirit of speculation and shortly had become launched 
with Brewer and an Englishman named Kennedy on a 
big deal which ended in our securing an option on a 
prospect known as the Triangle. It was situated about 
a mile from town at Diamond Fields (why the diamond 
no one seemed to know!). 

Everybody was most courteous to me. (I can't 
imagine why!) 

One night, in Casey's Hotel, I almost made a fortune. 
One always "almost" makes a fortune in a mining camp. 
On this occasion I was playing roulette when a Chicago 
capitalist approached me and suggested that I join a 
syndicate which was about to lease a property of great 
potential value. To get in would cost me $5,000. Just 
as I was about to pay down the money Brewer arrived 
on the scene and dragged me away unceremoniously. 
He told me more than $40,000 had already been sunk 
in the property and although they had gone down to a 
depth of nearly one thousand feet they had not dis- 
covered even a tomato can. 

"Do you expect to find tomato cans as far down in 
the bowels of the earth as that?" I am afraid Brewer 



296 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

doubted the ingenuousness of my credulity as I asked 
this question — blandly. 

Brewer persuaded me to keep out of the syndicate. 
The Chicago capitalist and his few associates in the 
succeeding nine months each took $1,250,000 out of this 
property and the price of the stock rose from $2 to $20 
a share! 

I put my all into Triangle. We bought a controlling 
interest for fifteen cents a share and then bulled the 
stock on the Goldfield exchange until it sold at more 
than one dollar a share. This was making money 
fairly fast. The whole thing was accomplished in about 
four months! I journeyed back to New York and 
quickly told all my friends to get aboard. Expert 
engineers had told me that at the one-hundred-foot 
level they had struck ore averaging $40 a ton. When 
the public received this illuminating bit of information 
the stock rose to $1.50. 

I bought some at that price! 

Previously I had bought more than 100,000 shares 
with my partners and as many more on my own account 
at varying prices from fifteen cents up. 

The engineers were strictly truthful. They had 
found forty-dollar ore all right. But my partners 
neglected to inform me that they had carefully placed 
it where it was found! That was my introduction to 
the gentle art of "salting" a mine. Ever since, at the 
mere mention of the word mine there comes a brackish 
taste in my mouth. 

They had taken their profits when the stock was 
selling at one dollar and had gone short 100,000 shares 
above this price; in fact they were the sellers of all the 
stock I purchased above the dollar price! Happily 
they were unable to control the upward trend of the 
market. As fast as they sold short I bought. Their 
stock got away from them. When they were called on 



I TRY BEING A BUSINESS MAN 297 

to deliver what they had sold they had not one share 
and were forced to call upon me for help. Thinking 
they were in a hole merely because of innocent blunders 
I loaned them 100,000 shares for $4,000. 

That block of stock they sent to my own brokers for 
my own account in Goldfield! My brokers confiscated 
all of it to satisfy a loan they had extended to this pair 
of partners of mine ! Thus was I robbed of stock worth 
in the open market $150,000. When I was fully awake 
I sold the remainder of my holdings, realizing about 60 
cents a share. In all I cleared about $20,000 in this 
first adventure into the mining game — although many 
of my friends still believe I made a half million out of 
Triangle. 

Meantime I had endorsed Brewer's notes for $10,000 
taking as security stock in another property he con- 
trolled. When the notes fell due I had to pay them as 
by that time everybody had discovered Brewer's 
specialty and was demanding liquidation. By threaten- 
ing to send him to the penitentiary I succeeded in re- 
gaining part of the $10,000 and erased his name from 
my visiting list. 

Brewer is now playing the tambourine in the Salva- 
tion Army. At the last reports he was trying to trade 
that instrument for a harp, with which to pick his way 
into heaven — undoubtedly. He was a failure with the 
pick in Nevada. Perhaps he will be more successful in 
heaven. If he succeeds in gaining admission (and I 
ever get there) I'll try to steal his harp! 

Although I made but little money at Goldfield I was 
very greatly attracted by its life; the utter abandon, 
the manhood, the disregard of municipal laws, the 
semblance of honor which fooled so many, the codes of 
right and wrong, the tremendous chances that were 
taken with a dice box. It was as exciting as being a 
member of a suicide club! 



298 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

Why do we court conflict with Fate when we know 
Fate is merciless? 

I wonder. 

Immediately after my unfortunate alliance with 
Brewer I formed an association with two men who, 
with me, believed in going at the mining game legiti- 
mately. By this I mean it is legitimate to buy options 
on prospects and properties which look good and place 
them on the market after they have been carefully 
examined by mining experts. Placing them on the 
market involves forming stock companies in each of 
which we must have the controlling interest. If the 
properties turn out well we continue to develop them 
and work them for all they're worth. This was the 
general idea of our new association. 

I was the financial backer. One of my partners was 
a practical miner who knew nothing about publicity 
work nor the art of promotion. The other was a young 
man who had gone stranded in Reno and whom I had 
known slightly in Goldfield as one of the boldest opera- 
tors in that roaring camp. He had failed for $3,000,000 
in Goldfield (mentioned by way of corroboration of this 
young gentleman's boldness!), and then paid his creditors 
100 cents on the dollar, quitting the camp broke. 

In due time and with no little formality was launched 
the Nat C. Goodwin Company, mine operators with 
headquarters in Reno. Presently we secured control of 
a valuable property in the new mining town Rawhide. 
The stock was worth most in Rawhide itself. All the 
mining experts there knew the property. Thousands of 
shares were sold to the inhabitants of the new mining 
camp who were loudest in their boasts that we would 
soon prove that our property was the peer of the great 
Goldfield consolidated. 

So confident were we that we had a really valuable 
property that we determined to go to New York and 



I TRY BEING A BUSINESS MAN 299 

let the public in on the ground floor. With no difficulty 
at all we listed our stock on the New York Curb and 
with no manipulation that stock soared from 25 cents 
to $1.50 per share, almost over night. All we had to 
do with it was publishing the mining experts' reports. 

The gentlemen who call themselves brokers on the 
Curb banded themselves together and conspired to work 
our ruin. In the end they succeeded. 

But before they did we managed to mount fairly high 
in the business; our legitimate methods and the unflag- 
ging industry of my partners resulting in nine months in 
our acquiring the controlling interest in Rawhide Coali- 
tion, owning outright another property in Rawhide, one 
in Bovard, one in Fairview, one in Goldfield and the 
Ely Central. The purchase price of Rawhide Coalition 
was $700,000 and of Ely Central, $1,075,000. We had 
fine offices in New York in which we employed one hun- 
dred and twenty-five stenographers! There we edited 
and published a weekly newspaper, not to mention a 
daily and weekly market letter. Each had a circula- 
tion of 60,000 copies weekly. 

This was the time that the big promoters of Wall 
Street decided we had been prosperous long enough. 
They "raided" our stocks — an interesting process for 
which there is not room here. Their raids were followed 
by the publication in two of the daily newspapers of 
the fact that one of my partners had a Past. It was a 
youthful past — the event happened back in 1894, 
just sixteen years before — but they dug it up to 
bludgeon the market with. 

What of it? In Nevada it's what a man is — not 
what he was — that counts. 

They said our "mines" and "prospects" were fakes, 
my partners imposters and I a willing tool. A burly 
police captain came to my apartments and threatened 
me with all sorts of punishments unless I agreed to pay 



300 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

for " protection/ ' I was fearfully upset and insisted 
that my attorney examine the books of the company 
to assure me that everything was being conducted 
honestly. I knew the properties in Nevada were all we 
claimed for them. I had spent months there and had 
panned gold on every yard of these properties. My 
attorney made a rigid examination of the books and 
assured me that everything was strictly legitimate. 

Then it was I determined to continue for I knew we 
had the goods and had been "on the level. " But the 
market looters were inexorable and showed no mercy. 
They broke our stock in one day from $1.50 to 60 cents. 
My partner, the man with a youthful Past, stood by 
his guns. Instead of allowing the stock to tumble and 
against my advice, he bought every share as fast as it 
was offered with the result that we found ourselves 
owners of hundreds of thousands of shares of stock 
bought at prices ranging from $1.50 downwards which 
we could not readily dispose of again, because of the 
slanderous utterances of the destroyers. 

This sportsmanlike act of my partner was repeated 
on another occasion, a few months later, during the 
marketing of Ely Central stock. The conspirators 
finally used a "pull" in Washington and succeeded in 
getting the Federal authorities to close-up the business. 
Rawhide Coalition, according to latest information, is 
earning $200,000 a year now (191 3-1 4). Ely Central 
has been "grabbed" and will be merged with the 
Rockefeller- Cole- Ryan owned Giroux, its neighbor. 

I had learned months previously that there was a 
plot on foot to put our firm out of business and the 
identity of the big interests behind this scheme thor- 
oughly impressed me. The suggestion that I "get out" 
while the getting was good appealed to me strongly. 
But first I acquainted my partners with the facts. 
The man with the past was as stubborn as he was 



I TRY BEING A BUSINESS MAN 301 

honest. He knew we were dealing honestly with the 
public and he was bent on standing by his guns and 
proving it. I knew the sword of Damocles was hanging 
by the slenderest of threads — and resigned. 

Eighteen months later the offices were the scene of 
a sure-enough, wild- Western raid. AH the staff was 
placed under arrest and indicted by the grand jury. 
It cost the government several hundred thousands of 
dollars to put that partner of mine in jail for six months, 
but they did it by main force and broke him first. The 
combat was an uneven one, and the " government " 
practically confessed before the trial was finished that 
they had been unwittingly used to do a "job" for Wall 
Street. The only crime my partner was guilty of was 
telling the truth and trying to protect his customers. 

I have set this down, not so much as autobiography 
as a vindication for a man who insisted on being an 
honest man, no matter what the cost! Also I have 
wished to disabuse some of my friends of an impression 
that I made a fortune out of my adventure into the 
mining game. I didn't make a fortune. I lost one! 



Chapter LXXII 




Ever 
loved 
never 



THE FIVE FATEFUL FISH CAKES AND 
NUMBER FOUR 

'ARRIAGE for me had become an inci- 
dent, not a conquest, now that I had 
tried and tried again — three times ! 
since my earliest youth I had 
the beautiful in nature. But I 
sought these beautiful creatures 
who sooner or later took my name. On the contrary, as 
I have shown, my second and third wives were thrust 
upon me by force of circumstances. Being human I 
allowed my bark of irresponsibility to sail tranquilly 
into the harbor of intrigue. 

If these two marriages were errors my fourth venture 
into matrimony was a catastrophe! I fled from a 
Cleopatra to meet a Borgia. 

And a dish of fish cakes proved my undoing! 
I am passionately fond of the mixture of salt fish and 
potato — at least I had been for twenty-five years. 
Now, for some reason, the mention of the aforetime 
delicacy makes me shudder. 

It was early one morning that I was hurrying to the 
ferry on my way to Washington when I caught the in- 
describable odor of fish cakes wafted toward me from 
the open door of the old Metropole Hotel. Instantly I 
forgot everything. Fish cakes appealed to me more 
then than anything in all the world — except only a 
cup of Child's "surpassing" and a plate of butter cakes, 
colloquially known as " sinkers." Into the Metropole 
I went and sat me down to await the execution of my 

order. 

302 



NUMBER FOUR 303 

Hardly had I taken my seat when an ex-manager of 
an ex-champion prize fighter approached me with a 
proposition which reduced to its simplest terms meant 
that I become angel for a theatrical troupe. I had little 
confidence in his managerial ability and knew enough 
of his past environment to convince me that he was not 
the man to handle any part of my money. When he 
told me the enterprise had already been launched and 
had met with failure after a disastrous tour I was 
positive I should never be induced to act as its 
reviver. 

I arrived at this sane conclusion, however, before the 
fish cakes were set before me! 

The scenery, it seemed, was held by the sheriff in 
Jersey City for unpaid debts. The young and hand- 
some woman star was lying in hiding in an apartment 
house nearby — in a hysterical condition promoted by 
her discovery of the perfidy of her manager and of the 
syndicate of backers who had "backed" with spontane- 
ous unanimity at the crucial moment. These gentle- 
men, my informer continued, had not only refused to 
rescue the scenery from the vulgar Jersey sheriff, but 
had also refused to redeem $20,000 worth of jewels 
which the young and handsome star had pawned in 
Louisville that the attraction might remain on tour. 

Before I had finished the first fish cake I discovered 
with mild surprise that the ex-champion prize fighter's 
ex-manager had a hitherto concealed attractive manner 
of speech and was altogether a magnetic sort of chap. 
As my digestive processes began work on that first fish 
cake I found myself interested not a little in this recital 
of the young woman's sufferings. I must have shown it 
for my companion waxed more and more enthusiastic 
and concluded an especially colorful description of her 
anguish with the whispered statement that she had been 
ruined ! 



304 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

In response to my sympathetic query he replied that 
he had intended to qualify the remark with the word 
financially ! 

In order further to test the truthfulness of his tale I 
asked the names of the syndicate of backers. They 
included a notorious roue, a wealthy stock broker and 
the ex-champion prize fighter — a versatile trio. It 
took but a short time for me to discover also the name 
of the attraction and of the young and handsome star. 
Fate was again at my elbow. I had heard of both play 
and player weeks before. The play had been suggested 
to me for my own use. I had refused to negotiate for 
it as I was then under the management of Charles 
Frohman and had no wish to make a change. But I 
knew that it was a very clever farce. Its failure, I was 
convinced, was the fault of inadequate acting and bad 
booking. 

This conclusion was not reached until I had masti- 
cated five fish cakes! 

By the time I had finished the fifth my blood was 
fairly boiling and the whole universe seemed to me to be 
calling aloud for a man to step forward and right the 
wrongs the young and handsome star had suffered. 
The treatment she had received was inhuman, I was 
sure of it! 

Impulsively I telegraphed the young lady in Washing- 
ton on whom I had started to call that I was detained 
in New York on most important business. Then we 
jumped into a cab and were on our way to the abode of 
the young and handsome (not to forget hysterical) star. 

Oh why did I not go to Washington? Why, oh why, 
did my mad passion for fish cakes cause me to tarry at 
the Metropole? Perhaps Demon Fate will answer that 
when posterity turns gray. 

Arrived at our destination we were first, and speedily, 
ushered into the presence of the mother of our heroine- 




Edna Goodrich 

My young and handsome star 



NUMBER FOUR 305 

in-distress. She was a middle aged woman of the mod- 
ern, alert type — who enjoyed cigarettes when her dear 
daughter was not in evidence. As we chatted inconse- 
quentially I fancied I had seen her somewhere previously; 
but as she launched forth on her distracted tale of her 
daughter's ruin (she did not qualify it!) my truant 
thoughts were squelched. 

Then came radiantly the daughter. She was sub- 
merged in sables! Resplendent jewels covered her! 
Evidently the aspiring Juliet had not left everything in 
Louisville. I was sure I had to deal with a very thrifty 
and provident, yes, and young and handsome star! 

AH the ex-manager had told me was quickly verified 
by the daughter and her astute mama. As was to be 
expected I let all my doubts dissolve in pity. Also I 
felt a combined desire to be philanthropic and heroic. 
I was almost as quick a thinker in those days as I was 
rapid as a spender. I was 47 years old! Perhaps, 
gentle reader, you know how susceptible are we clever 
men at that time of life, how tranquilly we sit back on 
the cushions of our thoughts and say to ourselves we 
are proof against the blandishments of women. We are 
sure that all the favors we bestow emanate from the 
bigness of our hearts ! We are proof against all tempta- 
tion. We know that December and May can not mate! 

Believe me, my dear reader, I was convinced when I 
made up my mind that I would assist this young woman 
I was doing an act of simple charity, combined with a 
little business tact. It was to be merely a business 
transaction. Fate might have nudged my elbow, at least 
once, that I might have foreseen the cost of my vanity. 

Within four hours from the moment the young and 
handsome star appeared on my horizon I had financed 
this worthy trio to the extent of releasing the scenery 
and redeeming the jewels. Also and by way of security 
(!) I found myself owner of the play. 



306 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

Oh I was some business man in those days! 

Five days later I sailed for London. 

Alone? * 

Oh no. 

With me I took the just-released scenery, the play 
(which I had never read but which I "knew" was a 
clever farce) and a promise from the young and hand- 
some star that she would follow on a steamship three 
weeks later. 

Before I sailed, with what seemed to me unnecessary 
foresight I cabled Tom Ryley, then lessee of the Shafts- 
bury Theatre, announcing my coming and asking that 
he prepare for the opening of my young and handsome 
star and me in "The Genius." When I reached London I 
found Ryley had obtained the rights to "The Lion and 
the Mouse" and was enthusiastic over its production. 
Charles Frohman had cabled him to endeavor to induce 
me to play the leading role. But I never for one mo- 
ment believed London would accept "The Lion and the 
Mouse" and refused to appear in it. (My opinion of 
London's acceptance of "The Genius" — now that I had 
read it — was not much more optimistic !) We com- 
promised on a production of "A Gilded Fool." This 
ran one week. Ryley again approached me with the 
leading part in "The Lion and the Mouse" and again I 
refused. And now I urged him to put on "The Genius." 

Ryley, ordinarily a brainy chap, showed unexpected 
lack of appreciation of talent and refused point blank 
to produce the farce if the young woman from America 
appeared in it. He seemed not at all impressed by my 
eloquent description of her ability as an actress. (Later 
he told me he had seen her on the stage!) (Much later 
I confided to him that I never had!) 

Back I came to New York — bringing with me a 
young woman I had discovered in London. (I am 
always "discovering" young women. It's a habit.) 



NUMBER FOUR 307 

This young woman, however, has since made history for 
herself. The wife of an automobile salesman and earn- 
ing pin money as an "extra woman" at the Shaftsbury 
Theatre, she volunteered one day to type extra copies of 
"A Gilded Fool" which were needed quickly. She did 
the work so well I engaged her as my secretary. One day 
she read me a speech from the play and so impressed 
me with her intelligence I gave her the leading parts in 
both "A Gilded Fool" and "An American Citizen" to 
study. Her readings of these two parts led me to engage 
her then and there as my leading lady — in place of the 
young and handsome star whom Ryley couldn't "see." 
(In passing I may say I paid her five pounds per week!) 
After the opening night's performance I engaged her 
for three years at a salary of $150 per week! 

Thus began the career of Alexandra Carlisle, to-day 
the highest salaried leading lady in London! 

I had a most trying experience with Miss Carlisle. 
On the railway trip from London to Southampton we 
had as fellow travellers her father and mother and 
husband — and we made a very happy quintette. But 
directly we were aboard the ship Miss Carlisle fell victim 
to an attack of homesickness. Perhaps it was her sense 
of loss of her husband, perhaps mal de mer was at the 
bottom of it. In any event she spent the entire trip in 
tears and in borrowing all my spare cash to send love 
messages, via wireless, to the husband for whom she had 
shown no affection at all — up to the time of our leav- 
ing. Of course all the old lady passengers glared at me 
the first day out! The rumor literally flew all over that 
ship that I was either abducting the young woman — 
or, equally heinous offense, was neglecting her! 

But to return to the mundane fish cakes — and the 
consequences thereof! 

The ex-champion's ex-manager had remained in Lon- 
don after the departure of the discomfited young and 



308 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

handsome star and her mama — to watch over me! 
Instructions had been cabled to him later to be especially 
watchful now that I was at my old game of "discover- 
ing" leading ladies. The trio of conspirators were very, 
very busy those days! The purpose of the ex-manager's 
presence at my elbow, constantly shown, was to have me 
land in New York fancy free. In spite of my sus- 
ceptible nature there was no cause for alarm this time! 
I was intensely respectable! As yet I had not even 
thought of divorcing Maxine Elliott. 

My idea was to combine two types of beauty, English 
and American, and with good press work make both my 
leading women popular favorites. But the hopeless 
state of mind of Miss Carlisle put rather a damper on 
my plan. I turned her over to the care of the ex- 
manager and remained in my stateroom during the 
entire trip. On our arrival in New York I loaned Miss 
Carlisle the cost of her passage home and the following 
week she started back to London — much to the 
satisfaction of my American beauty, pardon, my young 
and handsome star. 

It struck me as an odd coincidence that on the same 
ship with Miss Carlisle, also bound for London, was 
Miss Maxine — who always found it convenient to go 
to England within a day or two of my arrival in America! 

Fate was a busy bee these days, I can tell you. He 
was weaving his net well — and tightly. 

Of course the young and handsome star and her 
mama met me at the pier. They drove me to a most 
luxurious flat in Twenty-sixth Street — in a landau 
drawn by two spanking bays. Truly my young and 
handsome star was going some! After a hearty luncheon 
prepared by Martin I went to my hotel and spent the 
evening with my friends, who were, are and always have 
been — men! 

The next day I arranged a tour for "The Genius. ,, 



NUMBER FOUR 309 

The less said about that tour — 

With my marriage to Edna Goodrich, the young and 
handsome star, forsooth, the mere mention of fish cakes 
caused me to shudder! 

At the end of that first tour I knew that the end was 
at hand. Perhaps I was influenced by the fact that my 
friends told me at every conceivable opportunity of the 
record of the young woman and her mama. Of course 
I indignantly refused to listen to these allegations; but 
the fact that there existed grounds for such allegations 
may possibly have disturbed me. However, we went 
along, producing "When We Were Twenty-One," "An 
American Citizen," one act of "The Merchant of 
Venice" (thank God it was only one act!) and an 
original play written by George Broadhurst, which 
made a tremendous hit in the South but was a failure 
in the East. 

My star-wife complained of being ill at the end of the 
season and I sent her to a famous specialist in Minnesota 
for a series of treatments. Her recovery was almost 
instantaneous! In five days, from the day she left me, 
she wired me in California that she was in New York 
about to start for Europe! She asked that I follow her. 
I replied I had just reached Los Angeles and had 
business that would keep me there — at least over 
night. 

This was the beginning of the end indeed. 

One night at dinner, a month or so later, I received 
an anonymous letter containing charges against my 
absent bride. These general allegations interested me 
less than the statement that the writer could show me a 
watch which I had mourned as lost for many months. 
You see I wanted the watch! 

I arranged for an interview with my unknown corre- 
spondent, by putting a club in the pocket of my dressing 
gown. Two men appeared. One, a very common sort 



310 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

of person, I kept in my drawing room and the other, a 
young, respectable looking chap I took into my den. 
There I began my cross-examination. After promising 
to show me the long-lost watch the following morning 
he called in his companion who proved to be a waiter 
in a caje in which my wife had enjoyed her clandestine 
meetings. His description of the man immediately 
served to identify him as one of my wife's former ad- 
mirers — a gentleman-about-town who had squandered 
$20,000 on her, proposed and been accepted (before our 
marriage) and, fortunately, gone broke before the 
ceremony could be performed! My discovery that he 
was the gentleman in the case made me wonder. I had 
not heard that his fortunes had been repaired — before 
this! 

The following morning we visited a pawn broker's 
shop and there in the window, hanging on a line, was 
my watch. I recognized it, not only from its engraved 
initials but also because it was one of three which were 
never duplicated. I had bought all three in Paris years 
before and given two of them to my two best friends. 
When it disappeared I was sure it had been stolen and 
did my best to trace it with the aid of the police. I 
did not suspect my wife! 

The young man had discovered the facts when the 
man-about-town in a moment of drunken braggadocio 
boasted of his friendship with my wife and displayed 
my watch as proof of it! 

In the frenzy of the moment my impulse was to drop 
all else and find this whelp — to drive him at the point 
of a revolver into that pawn shop and there make him 
redeem and return to me the property which I could not 
accuse him of stealing! On second thought I realized 
that if I ever laid eyes on him I could never refrain 
from taking just one pop at him — and if the sound 
appealed to me I was afraid I might continue popping. 





A j^^Hk.-: ■ 


1 


<■•'■ H 






1 1 




1 ; 


1 






R 'Jj ;ll- ^1 




1 


• ^ Ml 



As Shylock 

One of my successful failures 



NUMBER FOUR 311 

So I counted ten and my reason returned. To be locked 
up for murder even if for only a few minutes is not a 
think to be courted. Besides there were always my 
mother and father to consider. Altogether it would 
have been the act of a fool and for once I determined to 
play another role. In following out this resolve I 
hastily left Los Angeles and started for London. 

Loving wife and fond mama had no intimation of my 
discovery. They were awaiting me at the station and 
never did a husband get a warmer greeting! Why, even 
mama seemed to have absorbed much of loving daugh- 
ter's excess of affection for me! And thus they con- 
ducted me to a snug apartment in the Savoy Hotel. 
To interrupt such tender solicitude for my well being by 
vulgar references to other men who yesterday had been 
the recipients of all I was getting then would have put 
me too far out of the picture ! So I sat tight and waited 
for morning. 

After breakfast the next day I opened the ball by 
remarking that I had finally come across the trail of 
the thief who had stolen my watch. Also I added with 
seeming irrelevancy that I had heard about the clandes- 
tine meetings my wife had been indulging in with a 
gentleman I named. 

Her denials were not only positive; they were indig- 
nant. The fact that I had absolute proof of all I had 
thus far said was the only thing that saved me from 
becoming thoroughly convinced that I was mistaken. 

Why is it so many women are such consummate 
actresses off the stage and such impossible amateurs 
on? 

I did a little acting on my own account, however, and 
evidenced complete belief in all my wife's denials. She 
was sure I would eventually find my watch in the top 
tray of a trunk which had Iain in storage in New York 
for months. I let it go at that. I had acquired all the 



312 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

proof I wanted, in other directions, and was satisfied. 
Besides, all this happened during the month of June, 
1910, and I was in a great hurry to get back to America. 

The contest for the heavy-weight pugilistic cham- 
pionship of the world was scheduled to be held 
July 4, 1910! 

My wife remained abroad that summer but the 
Jeffries-Johnson-fight-disappointment almost offset that 
benediction. 

Preparatory to my going back into my profession I 
bought a play from George Broadhurst who for some 
inconceivable (!) reason refused to let me produce it if 
I allowed my wife to appear in it. This was quite a 
shock to me but I set it down to the well-known eccen- 
tricity of authors. Present in a box at the opening per- 
formance of the play was my quondam "young and 
handsome star" who returned to New York just in time 
to grace the occasion. Later she descended on our little 
organization while we were playing in Toronto and this 
time she hurled accusations of all kinds at my head — 
any one of which would have enabled her to divorce 
me even in England! When the trial of her divorce 
action came along all these charges were disproven — 
but that one session in Toronto was not conducted along 
Parliamentary lines, so far as she was concerned. 

That she had instituted the proceedings didn't bother 
me at all. Having done all the affirmative work in two 
other divorce actions I thought I might as well take it 
easy this time and let her do it! But I had forgotten 
all about a certain deed of trust I had made in Paris 
some time before. 

During my mining activities I foresaw the calamity 
that was inevitable and acting on the advice of an in- 
competent attorney I foolishly entered into a trust 
agreement with my wife under the terms of which I 
placed all my property in the hands of a trustee. In 



NUMBER FOUR 313 

avoiding a possible loss I ran headfirst into a dead sure 
steal ! 

As soon as I had been served in the divorce action 
I began suit on my own account to cancel this trust 
agreement. It had always been a nuisance even in the 
days when wife and fond mama were at their Ioving-est! 
Now it was imperative that I be allowed to handle my 
own property alone. The settlement of that action was 
a long, drawn-out affair as compared with the divorce 
action. During the several months before my wife 
finally won (?) her case the newspapers were filled daily 
with sensational articles about my affairs with women 
I had never even seen! It seemed to me as if the 
gentlemen of the press just published any and every 
photograph of a pretty woman they could find and 
named her as one of the unfortunate objects of my 
attentions. In spite of this my wife's able counsel had 
beenable to present no facts to the Referee that could 
justify him in recommending a decree in her favor — 
up to the Tuesday before the Saturday on which he was 
to render his decision. 

It never dawned on me that this was the case until 
my dear old friend, Jim Killduff, who had been following 
the suit more closely than I had came to me that 
Tuesday night and congratulated me! "You're winning 
so easily, it's a laugh," he exclaimed. "Winning?" I 
echoed feebly. "Do you mean she isn't going to get 
her divorce?" "She hasn't a chance on earth," replied 
Jim gleefully. "Every charge she has made against 
you has been stricken from the Referee's record." 
"Good Lord," I gasped, "she's got to win! It's 
the only way I can ever get this trust agreement 
busted!" 

The result of our conversation I can not set forth in 
detail. The fact remains, however, that before that 
next Saturday the Referee had presented to him the 



314 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

evidence necessary to make his course of duty plain — 
and once again the newspapers had grounds (?) for 
proclaiming me a disciple of Solomon! 

Between you and me, gentle reader, Justice must 
have had to tighten that bandage about her eyes when 
she learned of that decree! She surely must have 
loosened it laughing! 

I can say, however, that it is a most expensive luxury 

— being divorced! It's much cheaper to use the active 
voice of that verb! 

Marriages are made in heaven — canceled in Reno. 

I have had many sweethearts, but only one survives 

— my mother. 

If a man steal your wife don't kill him — caution 
him! 




Chapter LXXIII 

SIR BEERBOHM TREE 

MOST extraordinary man is Beerbohm 
Tree. Refined, almost aesthetic in man- 
ner yet as worldly and practical as the 
most prosaic merchant. His humor is 
human if a bit cynical. He has the 
manner of a dreamer and an eye like a 
City man or an American gambler. Among those he 
loves he is nothing but a boy with a boyish simplicity 
but when he is surrounded by uninteresting acquaint- 
ances he suggests a German philosopher or Danish poet 
— in his impenetrable reserve ! 

A clever man is Beerbohm Tree and I like him. 
As is the case with all successful players especially if 
they have the good sense and good taste to present 
refined art he has many enemies. And most of these 
are members of his own profession! These malcontents 
have the effrontery to discuss a genius who has so far 
distanced them by his indefatigable industry, mentality 
and application as to leave them nowhere. He has 
succeeded in producing dignified plays in a dignified 
manner and his success has not been only " artistic." 
He makes enough to be able to pay $50,000 per annum 
for one of the prettiest playhouses in the world! 

I smile with you at your scoffers, Mr. Tree (I can't 
say Sir Beerbohm!). My hat's off to you. 

Here is a little anecdote of the man they say is 
characteristic. 

315 






316 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

He had been dining quite late — yes, and well. 
When the party broke up Tree hailed a cab and jumped 
in with the one word, "Home," addressed toward the 
cabby. That artful individual saw his chance for a fat 
fare and drove off without inquiring for more explicit 
instructions. After he had let his horse wander about 
London all night — with Tree in peaceful slumber inside 
— the cabby peeked in through his little aperture in the 
roof and awoke the sleeping player. 

"Where shall I drive you to now, sir?" queried the 
cabby. 

"Home, I say," replied Tree angrily. 

"I beg pardon, guv'nor," replied the cabby, "but 
where is your 'ome, sir?" 

Tree opened one eye long enough to direct a look full 
of reproach at the cabby. 

"You don't imagine Pm going to tell every common 
cabman my private address, do you?" 




Chapter LXXIV 

THE ORIGIN OF THE STAGE 

AR be it from me to be a dusty delver 
into dates! But a word as to the origin 
of the profession in which so many of us 
have toiled so many years may not be 
amiss, especially if it point the moral or 
adorn the tale I have in mind. And 
that is not so much a tale as a protest against the 
customary reverence the public has for the actor who 
dares essay the classic roles. It's not only not difficult 
to play a classic role. It's fifty per cent easier than to 
play a modern part! 
But to be historical! 

It was almost 350 (or only, as you please) years ago 
that the first properly licensed theatre was built in 
London. The exact date was 1570. It was called the 
Black Friars Theatre. 

(And to-day, 191 3, there are a dozen or so on one 
block, on one side of one block in Forty-second street, 
New York!) 

On the other hand it is marvelous to consider the 
amount of discussion one causes when one announces a 
forth-coming production of a classic play. By common 
impulse the critics sharpen their quills and prepare for 
the onslaught! How dare men and women who have 
been known to wear modern garments attractively and 
in style even attempt to enter into competition with 
past or present "masters"? By what right has the 
modern actor forsaken his frock coat for the sock and 
buskin? 



317 



318 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

But again, the first religious spectacle was probably 
"St. Catherine," a miracle play mentioned by Mattheu 
Paris as having been written by Geoffrey, a Norman, 
afterwards Abbot of St. Albans, and played at Dun- 
stable Abbey in iiio. In the "Description of the most 
noble city of London" by Fitz Stephen, a monk, in 
treating of the diversions of the inhabitants of the 
metropolis in 1174, says that while the plays all dealt 
with holy subjects the methods of the merchants who 
"presented" the attractions were anything but that. 
The gentle art of the ballyhoo was evidently well known 
even in those days for they used jugglers and buffoons 
and minstrels to draw the crowds up to the box office 
window. When the clergy awoke to what was going 
on they promptly put their sandaled feet down and 
stopped the money-making! Monks took the place of 
the unfrocked actors and the box offices and theatres all 
disappeared. Thereafter the miracle plays were enacted 
in the cathedrals and there was no way to check the 
gross receipts! 

According to the critics the classic comedy should 
never be played by an actor who has not arrived at an 
age that physically incapacitates him from not only 
looking the part but acting it! It is no different with 
classic tragedy. And this is based, perhaps, on the 
absurd fallacy that the classic drama is most difficult 
to portray. In fact it is the easiest. It is easily proved. 

Take any one of the old comedies. In the first place 
they create their own atmosphere, an atmosphere un- 
known to nine hundred and ninety-nine out of one 
thousand. The costumes are of brilliant coloring and in 
exquisite taste and a novelty in themselves, Nine-tenths 
of the idioms are not understood by the audience — 
and that is always most attractive! The methods of 
provoking laughter are uncommon, hence sure-fire! The 
play is a classic, therefore beyond criticism! No one is 



THE ORIGIN OF THE STAGE 319 

alive to-day who can judge of its accuracy — so it must 
be perfect! And, best of all, it is guaranteed to be in 
conformance with all the best standards — by tradition ! 

A tramp could make a success with a modern play 
with half this much in its favor ! 

On the other hand take the modern play. You know 
the atmosphere. You live in it. None is created. It is 
just there. Consequently the critics wail the lack of it! 
The costumes are simply the dull prosaic garments of 
the day. There isn't any novelty to be found there. 
The language is understandable — perilous fault ! The 
fun is provoked by well-known, legitimate methods and 
is accordingly "stupid." The comedian is a human 
being — and "tiresome" therefore! 

Mind you, dear reader, I would not be of those who 
wail about the decline of the drama and the ascendency 
of the movies. But I can't escape the facts. And here 
is another angle of the situation which perhaps is too 
often overlooked. 

There is no question that the actor of to-day is living 
in a more agreeable environment than his brother of a 
hundred years ago. He is accepted now socially. He 
was a gypsy then. His opportunity to annex a large 
share of the world's goods is larger to-day than ever it 
was. Yet in his artistic life he is less fortunate than his 
confreres of even twenty-five years ago. 

Why? 

Simply because we have lifted the curtain, let loose 
the secrets of our little house, discussed our art with 
the gambler and the janitor! 

It is a difficult job to convince a friend with whom 
you're dining that you are capable of playing Hamlet. 
He can't disassociate you from the evening clothes you 
wear ! 

Abroad the man and the actor are separate beings. 
Here, through our own fault, we are always ourselves. 



320 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

And so it must continue to be until the old back door 
keeper is reinstated, the green room refurbished and — 
the curtain dropped! Let the janitor be silenced and 
the stage door barred and securely fastened! Then and 
not until then may we hope to attain truly artistic 
results. 




In Hamlet 

It bad always been my desire to appear in Shakespearean roles 




Chapter LXXV 

MY STAGE-STRUCK VALET 

T was back in the early nineties that an 
invitation was extended to me to appear 
in an all-star performance of "Richard 
the Third " in a monster benefit for some 
charitable institution. (My friends, the 
critics, permit me to play tragedy ■ — 
for charity!) With my acceptance of the invitation I 
also sent word I should appreciate it if a "bit" (a small 
part) were given to my valet to play. This valet of 
mine was the most woefully stage-struck individual I 
ever saw. It was his only fault. Otherwise he was 
without a blemish as a valet. He had begged me for 
months to let him go on in one of my productions but 
I had never had an opportunity until now. 

The messenger sent from Richmond through Lord 
Stanley to Richard on the field of battle was the part 
my valet was to play and his line was "A gentleman 
called Stanley desires admittance from the Earl of 
Richmond/* For weeks prior to the benefit matinee 
that valet repeated his line aloud! If I asked for my 
slippers he brought them mumbling, "A gentleman 
called Stanley desires admittance from the Earl of 
Richmond/ ' No matter what I said to him he prefaced 
his answer with this line. It got on my nerves to such 
an extent I told him I'd dismiss him if he said it again 
in my hearing. It was no use. Every time I turned 
my head I saw my valet repeating "A gentleman called 
Stanley desires admittance from the Earl of Richmond/' 

321 



r 



322 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

We put in a long rehearsal session the morning of the 
matinee. I was so much occupied with my own per- 
formance I paid no attention to the valet. I forgot 
even to inform him about the costume he should wear. 
As I was finishing my make-up and within a moment or 
two of the rise of the curtain my valet appeared in the 
doorway of my dressing-room with a request that 
I look him over. What I saw sent me into a paroxysm 
of laughter. There he was, 250 pounds of him, in a 
green hauberk extending only to the top of his stomach! 
(It should have covered him to his knees.) Blue tights 
pulled over the generous paunch met the lingering and 
deficient hauberk. Scarlet boots were fitted with spurs 
so huge as to stagger any tragedian! The helmet whose 
side chains should have touched his shoulders sat atop 
his head like a chestnut on an apple with the side chains 
tickling the tops of his ears! As a finish he had the 
largest sword I ever saw strapped to his side! 

There was no time to change so I suppressed my 
laughter and told him for the fiftieth time to go to the 
left first entrance and when he saw my back toward 
him and heard me say, "Off with his head, so much for 
Buckingham/' to rush on and with all his vigor shout 
his line. The valet promptly began, "A gentleman 
called — " but I stopped him and he started off as 
proud as a peacock and as confident as possible. 

The moment came. Out of the corner of my eye I 
saw the valet waiting in his place. In his eagerness he 
was like a tiger ready to spring on his prey. I gave 
the cue. On came the valet! Then I turned and with 
all the force at my command snarled, "How now?" 

The valet began to fall backwards! Nearer and 
nearer the footlights he tottered until his feet became 
entangled in the spurs — and down he went flat on his 
back! Picking himself up he managed to rescue the 
funny little helmet from the footlights trough, put it on 



MY STAGE-STRUCK VALET 323 

his head, look for the exact center of the stage, reach it 
carefully, face the audience (with his back toward me!) 
and shouted, "A lady named Stanley is downstairs!" 

Of course everybody died! It was really my fault. 
I had omitted telling him that in tragedy actors save 
their voices at rehearsal and of course my rage was 
altogether unexpected by him as I had previously said 
"How now?" in a conversational tone. Of course 
every one of my friends insisted my valet was not to 
blame inasmuch as he had been making just announce- 
ments every day of his life to either John Mason or me 
in our little flat in the West thirties! But I always set 
it down as the best proof in the world that valets are 
born and not made. 

Tragedy is the husband of humor; comedy the child. 

Many comedians either make you laugh or frighten 
you to death. 



\ 




Chapter LXXVI 

GEORGE C. TYLER 

■fpjF all the managers now producing plays 
in America there is one who stands like 
Caesar alone, looking down upon the vic- 
torious battle field of success. If there 
are any laurel wreaths for sale in your 
neighborhood, gentle reader, buy one and 
bestow it upon the brow of George C. Tyler. Patient, keen, 
gentle and aggressive, he merits it. He has more artistic 
blood coursing through his veins than any man I know 
and, better still, he knows how to exude it. Courageous 
even to being stubborn he never allows anyone to rob 
him of his convictions. Once he embarks on any pro- 
ject he is as unmovable as the Sphinx whose counter- 
part appears in his spectacular triumph, "The Garden of 
Allah." 

Although he owns wonderful business ability he never 
allows commercialism to influence him in the production 
of a play. His knowledge of the ethics of the theatre 
equals the masters' and he can fly with the speed of a 
bird from tragedy to comedy. Here is no purveyor of 
established successes but a discoverer of them! He is 
truly a servant of the masses. And with all his success 
he remains as urbane as when he began. He has fought 
his battles alone and unaided; borne his failures with 
fortitude; accepted defeat w r ith the same equanimity as 
success. And now he stands one of the representative 
producing managers of the world! 

I have been associated with him only once and it was 
one of the most delightful experiences of my career. 

324 



GEORGE C TYLER 325 

Shall I ever again enjoy that pleasure? 

I wonder. 

August, 1913 

It was a long time ago I wrote the preceding en- 
comium. To-day I am suing Mr. Tyler for a large sum 
of money for breach of contract! But I meant it when 
I wrote it and I mean it still! And it goes as it stands! 



\ 




Chapter LXXVII 

I FIND THE VERY BEST PHYLLIS 

ATE in the person of George Broadhurst 
may seem incongruous to those who 
know that dramatist — but Fate is not 
to be held accountable for his guises! 
And it was through Broadhurst that 
Fate brought onto my horizon a young 
woman who presently was to save my life — and that 
is the least of countless benefits she has bestowed upon 
me! 

Broadhurst spent most of his time in Southern Cali- 
fornia from 1907 to 1909 and not a little of it at my 
beach home. After my long run of failures I hoped I 
had landed a winner in his new play "The Captain" 
which I took to New York for production there. He ac- 
companied me and undertook to select the cast. It was 
he who engaged as my leading woman Miss Margaret 
Moreland. 

The play was a fizzle as complete as any of the 
others. Until it proved a disastrous failure I never 
knew it was not all Broadhurst's. He told me after- 
wards he had written it in collaboration with some 
"unknown !" 

To round out my season I revived several of my tried 
and trusted old plays and did fairly good business on 
the road. If I accomplished nothing else that season 
could be set down by me as a success inasmuch as I 

discovered in Miss Moreland's acting of Phyllis in 

326 




Margaret Moreland 

The very best Phyllis 



I FIND THE VERY BEST PHYLLIS 327 

"When We were Twenty-One," the finest performance 
that role ever received — and I knew that in her lay the 
ability to become a really great emotional actress — a 
distinct discovery in these days. 

When I received an offer at the close of the season to 
go to Los Angeles and appear in a repertoire of my 
plays at the Auditorium Theatre where a new stock 
company was being formed, I accepted. On my arrival 
there I found the whole city wildly excited over this 
first attempt at opposition which the Emperor of Stage 
Land in Southern California, Oliver Morosco, had ever 
been called upon to throttle. It was a battle royal 
while it lasted. The Auditorium, which seats 3500, was 
packed at every performance — at very cheap prices. 
During the several months of my engagement Morosco 
spent many thousands of dollars tying up all the plays 
available for stock performances he could lay his hands 
on. Also my engagement served to increase the salaries 
of a number of Morosco's actors who he feared were 
about to desert him. For me it was a brief holiday and 
amusing. 

I recruited a company in Los Angeles following this 
engagement, engaging Miss Moreland as my leading 
woman, and opened in Phoenix, Arizona, playing my 
way across the country and arriving in New York in 
the holiday season in 191 1. It was during this cross- 
country tour that I received a telegram from George C. 
Tyler which resulted in my proving to not a few doubt- 
ing Thomases that I could "come back." 

I have constantly referred to Fate taking my cue 
from Homer. Now I learn he used this word simply 
to save time! It seems it is "the fates" who have 
directed my course through life. With those three 
little maids from school, Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos 
leading me along with their silken threads through my 
nose, allowing me to go on and on and then reeling me 



328 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

back again as one toys with a yellowtail, is it any 
wonder I've made so many failures? Had I only known 
I should have given up long ago! 

Young ladies, you've certainly made it warm for me! 

A love scene on the stage, properly played, leads to 
recriminations — if an explanation is demanded by the 
one left at home. 

An "American beauty" is a flower which seeks to 
adorn a coronet. Wear one as a boutonniere — but 
never, never marry one! 

Marriage in the profession should be made obligatory. 




Chapter LXXVIII 

THE LAMBS CLUB 

I HAT a remarkable institution is the 
Lambs Club! 

I say institution because in its de- 
velopment during the past twenty years 
it has grown from a cozy little rendez- 
vous for the tired actors after their 
night's work to a clearing house for plays, sketches and 
engagements of artists. 

To visit that beautiful home on Forty-fourth Street 
between the hours of one and two o'clock is to imagine 
you are in a business man's luncheon club down town. 
As I look back upon the many years when, of a cold 
winter's night, I would wander into the little Twenty- 
sixth Street home of the Lambs — I sigh deeply! Then 
I was sure to find a greeting from dear old Clay Greene, 
from that budding genius Gus Thomas. There were 
there to welcome me also the erratic Sydney Rosenfeldt, 
suave Frank Carlisle, dominant Wilton Lackaye, brilliant 
Maurice Barrymore, dear old Lincoln (now passed away) 
and countless others, including clever Henry Dixey, then 
at the zenith of his success, the Holland boys and — 
but then why continue? 

It was then we knew how to spend the time, how to 
regale ourselves and how to pass many, many happy 
hours with anecdote and song. All the members knew 
each other in those days. I, among many others, never 
entered the club without embracing that dearest of 
men, George Fawcett. There were no favored few in 

329 



330 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

those days. It was one for all and all for one. Clever 
John Mason and that equally talented artist, George 
Nash, were the staunchest upholders of this slogan. 

How different now! 

As I enter the Lambs Club today I scarcely know a 
member. Almost all of the old guard have passed 
away. As I look into the faces of the many unknown 
to me it seems almost impossible that I have not wan- 
dered into the wrong building! But presently I find 
Gus Thomas and a few remaining members of the old 
flock — and then all is well once more. 

Thomas has developed into the greatest American 
dramatist — as I knew he would. To be sure now and 
then one of his plays fails to meet with favor while per- 
haps one of the anaemic Broadhurst's sensual plays is 
meeting with success, but Thomas's plays will live and 
be in the libraries of America when the products of these 
ephemeral writers have been consigned to the waste 
baskets of obscurity. 

I consider Thomas not only a great dramatist but a 
great American. I am sure if he had entered politics 
the world would have recognized him as a great states- 
man. With a suavity of manner, full of repose and a 
geniality which few possess, Thomas exerts on an audi- 
ence a combined feeling of restfulness and awe. I never 
heard him utter an unkind word to anybody nor discuss 
an actor's or author's ability with anything approaching 
antagonism. He goes along quietly and unassumingly, 
writes a couple of failures and then — bang! — he hits 
you in the eye with a play that has a knock-out punch. 

Such plays as "The Witching Hour" and "As a Man 
Thinks" will be acted when he and his many admirers 
shall have long since passed into the great beyond. 

Augustus Thomas I count the Pinero of America — 
and a true American gentleman. We have been friends 
for twenty years and I am proud of that friendship. 




7 */-~,^ 



£* /wwfc 



As Fagin in Oliver Twist 
"Fagin was a comedian " 



THE LAMBS CLUB 331 

In the same spirit of thanksgiving I may mention my 
friendship for John Mason. Surely the American public 
must be proud of this splendid player. John and I 
were very dear pals in our younger days and we have 
kept up the friendship to date. In those days John was 
prone to indulgence in all the existing vagaries of the 
moment and never took himself seriously until recently. 
But now he has settled down and showed his real 
merits as an actor. 

The fact that he is a great favorite in London speaks 
volumes for his capability. 

I sincerely hope that John Mason may be spared for 
many years to show this great American public that 
there are a few American artists still capable of deliver- 
ing the goods. 

John! I wish you continued success, for you deserve 
it! 

In casting a play nowadays, never seek ability, seek 
only "personality." 

The true philosophy of life is to try to achieve some- 
thing and when you have — forget it. 

Put a uniform on the average middle class "American" 
and you make of him a vulgar despot. 




Chapter LXXIX 

I "COME BACK" 

YLER'S telegram contained an offer to 
play Fagin in an all-star production of 
"Oliver Twist" to be produced in Feb- 
ruary, 191 2, on the occasion of the 
Dickens* centenary celebration. It had 
been a long time, the longest time in my 
entire stage career, that I had been without a successful 
characterization in New York — and the thought of 
giving my interpretation of the famous Jew appealed 
to me. I accepted. 

The production was very good. The company was 
quite capable. Associated with me were Constance 
Collier, Lyn Harding, Marie Doro and other equally 
well-known and finished artists. Fuller Mellish's per- 
formance of Mr. Grimwig was one of the most delightful 
bits of character acting I ever saw. 

We opened at the New Amsterdam Theatre to a capac- 
ity audience and tremendous business was the rule dur- 
ing the entire engagement. It was a fine playhouse in 
which to stage such a pretentious production as Tyler 
had given the play. There is little doubt that "Oliver 
Twist" might have remained at the New Amsterdam 
almost indefinitely had it not been that other, earlier 
bookings compelled us to move out. The demand for 
seats was so great, however, that Charles Frohman 
welcomed us at the Empire Theatre where, much to my 
surprise (for it is altogether too small and "intimate" 
a place for such a production as this), it continued to 
"turn 'em away." 

332 



I "COME BACK" 333 

The critics were all very enthusiastic. It amused me 
not a little to detect in several of the reviews expressions 
of surprise that I was able to portray Fagin to the 
reviewer's satisfaction. Of course I knew all along that 
the Rialto and Park Row were a unit in declaring that 
I could never "come back." I think perhaps the simple 
fact that I made Fagin a humorous old codger instead 
of the sinister object our very best tragedians have 
always painted him may account for the laudatory 
notices my work received. 

But there can't be any question about Fagin. He 
was a comedian — positively ! Think of his telling 
Charlie Bates he would give "dear little Oliver a treat" 
— by letting him sleep in that awful, awful bed of his ! 
Oh yes, Fagin never stopped having silent laughs. And 
I liked him for it. 

While we were playing to packed houses at every 
performance at the Empire Tyler sailed for Europe 
assuring us he would send us out on tour after the 
Empire Theatre engagement. He said we were to go to 
the Coast and continue the tour throughout the follow- 
ing season. As a result I turned down a very flattering 
offer to appear in New York that fall. Had he not 
failed to keep his promise I should have been spared a 
year of physical suffering! 

But he did break his promise. A week after the 
Titanic disaster we received notice that the season was 
at an end so far as "Oliver Twist" was concerned. 

And now, having "come back" I foolishly determined 
to go back — and I started for California once more. 
I've always thought Greeley's advice should have read, 
"Go West, old man!" 




Chapter LXXX 

I "GO BACK" 

HE summer of 191 2 proved very event- 
ful! 

Closing the "Oliver Twist" season 
early in May I headed for California to 
superintend the development of my 
ranch at San Jacinto. Immediately on 
my arrival I began the laying out and planting of a 
hundred acres of oranges, lemons and grape fruit. It 
proved most fascinating work. 

During the three months I put in at the ranch I lived 
in a big tent with a party of friends including Miss 
Moreland and her married sister. I was up with the 
birds and in bed by 9 o'clock every night. Employing 
as I was twenty men and ten six-horse teams, ten 
four-horse and three ten-horse, my job of supervision 
was necessarily a big one. I would go from one 
gang to another climbing hills which in a few days 
would be levelled ! Oh it was big work — adjusting 
the miles of pipe lines and cement flumes which we 
manufactured ourselves during the process of grad- 
ing, preparing the holes to receive the trees which 
were being prepared and nourished at the nursery of 
a Mr. Wilson of Hemet, two miles away, seeing that 
the hot ground was properly cooled by the water I 
had developed from a concealed spring in the moun- 
tains and doing the thousand and one other things 
necessary to insure the successful development of an 
orange grove. 

334 



I "GO BACK" 335 

I had previously given the work a great deal of 
thought and study. It requires a great deal. The 
average orange grower neglects the study of the planting 
and rearing of the trees and the result is more often 
failure than success. An orange tree will not nourish 
alone and neglected any more than a baby and it is in 
its early life, like the infant, that it must be watched. 
The young tree should first be carefully examined as to 
its vigor and stamina; next its foundation or roots must 
be well looked after and handled tenderly in its up- 
rooting in the nursery; extreme care expressed in the 
removal and transplanting. It should be transported, 
if the weather be hot, during the early morning hours, 
packed in manure, well watered and the roots covered 
by canvas or burlap. The holes should be kept moist 
all the previous evening to cool the earth and in the 
planting all the roots should be carefully separated and 
spread out. Directly a row is planted it should be 
deluged with water for six to eight hours or longer. 
Once a week for ten years the ground should be culti- 
vated and disturbed and every year, unless the soil is 
very rich, the trees should be fertilized. An orchard 
should be gone over at least every other day for three 
years when by that time it can take care of itself with a 
little attention and be made a most profitable invest- 
ment. But it won't thrive on its own and you can't 
run an orange grove living three thousand miles away 
nor intrust it to the management of the average care 
taker. Go to it personally and it will prove a winner 
with a chance of clearing one thousand dollars an acre 
annually. 

Faith is the harbor of the unwary into which the ship 
of ignorance tranquilly sails. 




Chapter LXXXI 

DAVID BELASCO 

HAT an intellectual giant is David Be- 
Iasco! The most conspicious man asso- 
ciated with the American stage to-day. 
His accomplishments have been colossal. 
Even Irving, Pouissard, Charles Keane 
and many other artists of their day, 
who have devoted their lives to Art, bow in obeisance 
to the modern David. 

Think what this gentleman has accomplished! He 
has given to the world David Warfield and made him 
a master; Blanche Bates, Mrs. Carter and many others 
of equal talent. Produced plays that will down to 
history among the classics; modernized stagecraft to 
the extent that one never realizes they are in a theatre 
when privileged to witness one of the Belasco produc- 
tions. Yet, with all his wondrous powers and attain- 
ments, he is never in evidence, only his handiwork. 
He has built the only playhouse worthy the name in 
America. It suggests the old Irving Lyceum in Lon- 
don, and one approaches the portals of the Belasco 
Theatre with awe and reverence. 

I have known him for over thirty years, and he is as 
modest as he is clever: every angle of our Art at his 
finger tips. A gentleman, scholar and Artist I A Man, 
is David Belasco, Dean of the American Drama. 






336 




David Belasco 

An intellectual giant 




Chapter LXXXII 

"AUTHOR — AUTHOR" 

OT so long ago I was present at the first 
performance of a play, and during its 
presentation I was shocked beyond my 
power to describe by an incident at the 
same time disgusting and inconceivably 
vulgar. The play itself — a wearisome 
thing — was crude and altogether impossible. 

At the end of the second act, a half dozen paid 
ushers applauded valiantly. Before they could become 
wearied by their difficult task, a huge, bulky man 
appeared before the curtain. He ambled slowly to the 
center of the stage where he stood still for perhaps 
fifteen seconds as if to enable the audience to contem- 
plate him in repose. 

Then this individual shifted his weight from one leg 
to the other, still keeping silent. There he stood, a 
sneer distorting his features, poised on one leg, the left 
foot pointing toward the right. He wore an ill-fitting 
evening suit with an abundance of shirt front, very 
much mussed, protruding from the confines of the 
waistcoat. His face, unwashed, suggested a cross be- 
tween a Bill Sykes and a Caliban. Oblique, thin slits con- 
cealed a pair of green-white eyes. A strong, wide jaw 
that opened and shut like the snap of an alligator's was 
tilted forward and upward at the puzzled spectators. 

Finally the person, the author of the drivel we had 
patiently listened to, leaned over the footlights and 
casting a look toward the woman for whom he had 

337 



338 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

deserted home, wife and children, literally snarled at 
the audience. 

"I wrote this play for the elect/' he declared fero- 
ciously. 

A perceptible shudder ran through the house. Many 
men and women rose from their seats and left the 
theatre, refusing to remain to hear the incoherent and 
egotistical remarks of this revolting person. 

I have known this brute for twenty years, and in all 
that time I have never heard one human being speak 
anything except ill of him. Managers avoid him. 
Artists loathe him. Authors despise him. A moral 
and physical coward, this man without a friend, wanders 
from East to West, vulgarly attempting to foist upon a 
long-suffering and all-too-easily deceived public, the 
woman whose chief claim to public notice is the fact 
that she was named as co-respondent in the divorce 
action obtained by his wife. 

He continues to write plays of the underworld with 
inspirations obtained in the sewers of humanity and 
founded on ideas purloined from departed authors or 
stolen from the living too weak to protect themselves. 

His blustering, bullying tactics have enabled him to 
push his way upwards to some success — but no one 
envies him. All who know him "have his number." 

I have often wondered how he has escaped bodily 
injury. No woman is safe from his insults. I know 
one young woman who went to him in search of an 
engagement. His first question was so dastardly as to 
cause her to burst into tears, and she ran from his 
presence in hysterics. When this young woman's uncle 
learned of it he loaded a revolver and started on this 
playwright's track. But the tears and entreaties of his 
wife and his niece stopped him. 

Will the world ever be rid of this form of human 
parasite? 



"AUTHOR — AUTHOR" 339 

I wonder. 

The antithesis of this person is another author equally 
despised. He is a little, pale person who writes problem 
plays and has met with much success. He never drinks 
or smokes. In fact he poses as a paragon of all the 
virtues. 

He once wrote me an insulting letter accusing me of 
uttering profane remarks concerning a certain business 
transaction between us. I never answered it, but have 
it in my possession. It may prove useful some day. 

This beauty, who also has a wife and children, came 
West some few years ago accompanied by a woman 
whom he introduced to many persons as his wife. I 
knew she was not, but kept my counsel. One day we 
were discussing a play which he had promised to write 
for me. I asked him why he did not divorce his wife 
or insist on her divorcing him. He blandly replied: 
"Great Scott, I've tried everything to induce her to do 
so, but she doesn't believe in divorce. Besides, she is 
a Christian." 

Fancy this pious little man saying this. 

He goes merrily on his way, living a dual life — the 
woman of his easy choice provided for far better than 
his wife and children. And he writes plays dealing with 
moral problems! He receives very large royalties and 
basks in the sunshine of his own hypocrisy. 

And this individual has had the audacity to criticise 
my actions and elect himself the censor of my various 
attitudes. 

Well, let him. I would not exchange my conscience 
for his for all his affluence. And yet, from his point 
of view, he is right. The world applauds his plays. 
No one seems to interfere with his private affairs. He 
is received by all his fellow club members with imper- 
sonal respect. The wide white way is always open to 
him and the woman. There no one ever pushes them 



340 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

aside. The legal wife and children are unknown to 
cruel, gay Broadway. The narrow paths of the meadows 
and lanes of the suburban retreat in which this success- 
ful author has his family housed are. their only byways. 
Through them they slowly tread — to the little church 
and beyond it to the graveyard, towards which the 
wife and mother ever sets her gaze — as if in prayerful 
hope. 

And the author of successful plays is content. 

He knows his wife is a Christian. 

What is he? 

I wonder. 

I would rather sell fresh eggs from the end of my 
private car in one night stands — than barter impure 
ones on the stage of a leading New York playhouse. 

An agnostic objects to salaries for draped preachers 
and to temples whose roofs prohibit thought from per- 
meating the realm of inspiration. 

Fact is the whiplash that scourges faith. 




Chapter LXXXIII 

MUSHROOM MANAGERS 

HE past year has been an appalling one 
for the mushroom producing manager. 
I mean those insolent young men near- 
j ing the thirties, who by accident or 
some unknown reason secure control 
of musical comedies written by some 
obscure author and after interesting friends to the 
extent of investing capital enough to enable them to 
produce the aforesaid comedies, they launch their pro- 
ductions and sometimes get them over. 

They look about for the best available talent, estab- 
lish salaries that make it prohibitive for legitimate 
producers to sustain, and calmly go on their way. If 
they fail they can assign the production to the store- 
house and leave their artists in any town or city where 
they come a cropper. If they succeed with their first 
venture they at once organize two or three road com- 
panies and go through the country circusing their first 
accidental success. They establish themselves in ex- 
pensive offices; engage a staff and go at once into the 
producing game seriously, seeking the best authors and 
composers and outbidding managers of standing, and 
endeavor to secure prevailing European successes, or 
produce original plays of their own. Naturally, their 
lack of training and experience is a handicap and their 
first success is seldom followed by another. Two or 
three successive failures soon put them on the shelf 
and they seek the Bankruptcy Court to avoid their 

341 



342 



NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 



creditors. Artists are left stranded with an inflated 
idea of their respective values and generally indulge in 
a well merited vacation. 

They have no sense of honor and their idea of specu- 
lation is to invest a shoe string with an idea of securing 
a tannery. 

One of these producers was standing in the lobby of 
a New York theatre, last season, on the eve of one of 
his $30,000.00 productions, when he was approached by 
one of the leading actors of the past winter, to whom 
he owed several thousand dollars back salary. The 
actor offered to compromise for a thousand. The 
manager looked at him and replied: "My boy, where 
could I get the thousand?" These are the methods 
that are destroying the theatrical game. 

Irresponsible managers have only to enter the office 
of these syndicates, assure the gentleman in charge that 
they have a production ready costing many thousands 
of dollars, and the booking agent at once arranges a 
tour, throwing aside standard attractions who have not 
invested quite as much money as the new producer, 
and the older attraction must take what is given him 
or leave it alone. If he objects, he is told that the 
Mushroom Manager has invested from $20,000 to 
$50,000 in his enterprise and his capital must be pro- 
tected and the terms made accordingly. In other words, 
the booking agents gamble with them and allow them a 
percentage of the gross receipts according to the amount 
of his investment. I consider this all wrong and one 
of the reasons of the unsuccessful theatres of the present 
day. 

Men who have judgment and talent should be pro- 
tected. If they draw the money, what matter to the 
booking agent what amount of money has been invested ? 

Three or four of these Mushroom Managers have 
gone into bankruptcy this season and they can be 



MUSHROOM MANAGERS 343 

found every evening at present, tangoing on the various 
roof gardens, where they belong. 

There is no denying the fact that as a nation we 
prate about patriotism that does not exist. Every 
foreign artist who visits our shores finds us ready to 
bow down and pay homage, be it the Mistress of a 
dethroned king, a bare-legged Countess or an anemic 
tragedian. I have no desire to be personal; but the 
adulation, attention and grovelling at the feet of Sir 
Johnston Forbes-Robertson is to me, as an American 
actor, simply disgusting; not that Sir John is not a good 
actor, or even a great actor, but I have memories of a 
departed actor named Edwin Booth, who lost a million 
dollars in an honest endeavor to perpetuate his art by 
erecting a playhouse which bore his name. Now, this 
foreigner who has done absolutely nothing to advance 
the art of acting, advertises his farewell to a public 
who are as fickle as they are undiscriminating and packs 
the theatres, giving his last performance in New York 
to receipts that dear Edwin Booth never dreamed of 
playing to; conspicuous citizens pay him tribute, and 
go forth proclaiming his performance of Hamlet superior 
to that of Booth. How we Americans forget and fawn. 
One of our best known and oldest comedians at present 
appearing before the public, had the extreme bad taste 
after witnessing the performance of Robertson's Hamlet, 
to enter the Players Club, which Edwin Booth pre- 
sented to the profession, and pronounce Robertson's 
Hamlet superior to Booth's. As a boy I had the pleas- 
ure of witnessing Booth play Hamlet; I saw a prince 
to his finger tips looking the character of a philosopher 
of thirty, and playing it to perfection. Now an anemic 
old gentleman past sixty, with a supporting company 
of which Corse Payton would be ashamed, is packing 
the playhouses of America, bidding farewell to a public 
that has long since forgotten Edwin Booth and his 



344 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

supporting company, which included such actors as 
Edwin Adams, John McCuIIough, Milnes Levick and 
divers others of equal talents. One never heard of 
E. L. Davenport's farewell nor Edwin Forrest's, another 
actor who left a home for actors incapacitated for 
work; they are in the grave, forgotten. Actors are 
walking Broadway seeking employment, others are 
travelling seeking to earn a livelihood, while an anemic 
old gentleman is calmly gathering in the American 
dollars to build his English palace. 

How unfortunate to grow up with one's Country! 
Far better to burst suddenly upon it — unknown — 
but heralded! 

One failure in America will blot out the memory of a 
score of successes. Here art is sold by the yard. 

To realize the unimportance of art, read the average 
critical review of it. 

Acting is now a matter of geography. 

America is the English actor's Mecca; England is our 
cemetery. 



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Chapter LXXXIV 

KEEP OFF THE GRASS" 

WONDER if the average American 
citizen, particularly that type of long- 
haired reformer whom the middle west 
sends to Southern California, ever stops 
to seek the reason for the annual exodus 
abroad of so many of us. In these 
annual trips to Europe we leave millions of dollars 
earned in this country to add to the coffers of those 
who understand the broad principles and liberal ideas 
of government. 

It is for freedom! Free thought! Free inclinations! 
Free expenditures! Masters of themselves, they go 
where they please, eat and drink what they desire at 
any hour, time and place. There they are not sub- 
servient to the prying eyes of long-haired men and 
short-haired women. There they find a patch of green 
for rest and recreation without a sign reading "Keep 
off the Grass." 

The majority of the law-makers of our supposedly 
free country are not legislators. They are either 
school-teachers or policemen or hypocritical saints who 
eat cold food on Sunday and prate from their platform 
of platitudes their plenary inspirations with a desire 
that all mankind do likewise. If you fail to live up to 
their doctrines you are a heretic. If you desire to live 
among them with free instincts you write yourself 
down an anchorite. Personally, I would rather be a 
Hyperborean and subsist on icicles than be compelled 
to live subject to the insular municipal laws of this 

345 



346 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

boasted free country. Were I personally denied the 
opportunity of visiting the various capitals of Europe 
at intervals and watching and enjoying results of 
modern civilization and really free government, I might 
be converted and agree with some of the ignorant and 
incompetent law-makers of our so-called free country. 

Come, oh, come with me, some of you moralists who 
consider it a crime to take a cocktail on the Sabbath, 
and visit Berlin, the best governed city in the world, 
where life begins at midnight and continues for twenty- 
four hours. Then let us on to Paris and Vienna and 
St. Petersburg, with a stop at Rome. Gaze upon the 
many happy faces, a large per cent truant, free American 
citizens enjoying themselves like school children at 
recess, finding a respite from the puritanical laws of 
their own country. No arbitrary ordinances forbid 
their ordering wine, visiting the race courses, playing 
at baccarat, spending an evening at the opera, and there 
are no policemen to tell them "Keep off the grass." 

And all this enjoyment on the Lord's Day! Fancy! 
How horrible! What blasphemy! Truly shocking! It 
is enough to make John Calvin ask his neighbor to turn 
over. 

Does it ever occur to these psalm singers that people 
do this of their own volition? There are as many 
Cathedrals as there are restaurants, but there is no law 
that compels you to patronize either. 

We are denied the sport of Kings — horse racing. 
In England racing is upheld by royalty and the House 
of Lords. Here it is decried by disloyalty and a house 
of cards. 

It would be amusing to the native American who has 
travelled throughout the world and watched the growth 
of really free and sensible governments, were it not so 
humiliating, to regard this wave of morality that is 
sweeping the country like a forest fire. 



KEEP OFF THE GRASS 347 

That bewhiskered gentleman in New York, who 
wielded his scepter of cant from the governor's chair, 
confessed he had never attended a theatre or seen a 
horse race. I can well believe it. I presume when he 
was at college the pantry attracted him more than the 
foot ball field. He chooses to disfigure his face with a 
square cut beard. Therefore from his point of view 
barbers are unnecessary! Why didn't he shut up all 
the barber shops and revoke the Gillette Safety Razor 
patent? He has just as much authority, morally, to 
shut up all the restaurants and bars because he never 
tasted wine. A good tonsorial spree and a cocktail 
would benefit this disciple of John Knox, I am sure. 

Fancy an ordinance in this free country forbidding 
wine at restaurants on Sundays unless a meal is ordered 
and that hot! Can you imagine anything more ludi- 
crous than these psalm singers making arbitrary laws 
about the temperature of our food? No prize fights 
are allowed nor even pictures of the manly art of self- 
defense to be shown. What a rebuke to American man- 
hood! What a future for our sons to contemplate! 

Boys in time to come will settle their disputes crochet- 
ing and knitting instead of in a good stand up fight as 
in the days of old. 

You won't take your son to witness the pictures of 
the Jeffries-Johnson fight, but you will accompany your 
daughter to view an amorous picture. 

Gambling of every description is debarred and all the 
public parks feature "Keep off the Grass!" No wonder 
we are known as a nation of travellers. How different 
it is abroad. Frenchmen never leave France, Germans, 
Germany and the average Londoner seldom gets beyond 
the sound of Bow Bells. Yet true born Americans will 
go anywhere to escape the thraldom of the insular laws 
of this supposedly free country, only returning to gather 
enough shekels to enable them to buy more freedom. 



348 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

I learn from a banker of Los Angeles that more than 
$700,000 was drawn from the city banks one summer in 
cheques and letters of credit on European houses. 
Imagine anyone leaving the gorgeous city of Los 
Angeles. And yet there is a reason — less climate, 
more freedom. 

I predict ere long if the present conditions continue 
everyone who can afford it and who has red corpuscles 
flowing through his veins will spend his holidays abroad. 
Ten times $700,000 will be drawn from the banks of Los 
Angeles annually unless some live one is put at the helm 
of that grand ship — Los Angeles. 

Contrast the seaside resorts of Ostend, Aix-Ies-Bains, 
Trouville and Dieppe with our Coney Island, Atlantic 
City and Ocean Park, California. At Ocean Park we 
have the same sunshine and sea as the Mediterranean, 
with a few mountains thrown in. God gave us the best 
of it — man the worst. 

At the seashore in foreign countries are beautiful 
hotels, delightful promenades and a Casino where one is 
allowed to gamble. Fancy gambling by the sea and the 
government permitting it! And why not? Part of the 
revenue goes toward maintaining its charities and 
churches. The government realizes it is the duty of 
every municipality to enhance its treasury for the 
benefit of its institutions and the poor. Ten per cent 
of the revenues of the race tracks in France the govern- 
ment confiscates — and quite right. I would rather 
contribute to the church from my winnings, racing, than 
pay a like amount into the poor box listening to a stupid 
sermon in a poorly ventilated church. 

One can be ten times more devout paying admission 
into Heaven with another fellow's money! 

These far sighted foreigners have taken advantage of 
our insular laws with the result that they have attracted 
the rich of the universe who desire to spend their money 



KEEP OFF THE GRASS 349 

as they wish. They prefer Casinos to shacks — people 
to peanuts. 

Here are we in beautiful Los Angeles with laws as 
arbitrary as Salem a hundred years ago. No wines are 
served on the Sabbath; a race course is going to decay; 
wantons and women of the street are compelled to move 
on. In all the European cities the poor wanderers are 
protected by the laws and placed within the jurisdiction 
of the medical fraternity and housed instead of hounded. 
Necessary evils must be protected for the sake of 
humanity. 

If we would only open the flood-gates of progress, 
batter down the doors of dogmatism, take off the lid 
that suffocates the rich and strangle the cant and 
hypocrisy of these modern reformers — the Magdalenes 
would have shelter; race tracks would be permitted to 
give enjoyment to those who appreciate the sport of 
Kings; prohibition would cease to make drunkards; 
freedom would run amuck; turnpikes would be estab- 
lished from coast to coast; the incense of orange 
blossoms would permeate to the Atlantic — and Cali- 
fornia become the rendezvous of the world. 

A hypocrite is one who emerges from his own shadow 
and apologizes to the sun for asking it to shine. 

Idle gossip is a busy bee. 

The astronomers who almost opened the gate of 
heaven crucified the souls of those who held tickets of 
admission. 




Chapter LXXXV 

CALIFORNIA 

HAT a royal country is California! 

I am the happy possessor of an alfalfa 
and orange ranch in San Jacinto county. 
How beautiful it is! As I stand under 
the trees at sunset I contemplate a scene 
not equaled even in the beautiful Aus- 
trian Tyrol! 

Down from the mountain top, furrowed with many 
natural terraces from the base to the crest, trimmed by 
gradually receding rows of full grown orange trees to 
the infant ones, just planted, I look with reverence upon 
the valley. I see the bovine and the hog bow as the 
Angelus is heard. The lilac and the rose hold converse 
and whisper to the sun to shed less light that they may 
embrace and sink into the night. The chug of the 
practical water pump gives demonstration that it must 
nourish the alfalfa's life, only to destroy it, to give added 
life to the tenants of the velvety carpet. 

All is hushed, the fowls bidden hence by the watch- 
man, Chanticleer, to their respective homes, Mistress 
Hen to quench the fires and prepare for dawn. The 
stately Eucalyptus nods his head signifying that time 
is done. The sun apologetically starts away to make 
his daily run. The vegetables prepare themselves for 
the noonday meal, the barley and the oats keep tune 
to the zephyr's lullaby as they sink gracefully into 
slumberland. 

350 







P o 



< 3 



u c 






CALIFORNIA 351 

From the East the gentleman called Moon appears 
and smilingly bids all good cheer, for, when he's on the 
watch, care vanishes. 

All is hushed. 

The twinkling of the stars seems to make a melody as 
they hit and strike each other down the heavens. 
Something moves, as if to destroy the harmony of 
thought. An Indian glides by with just a sign of 
recognition as he passes on to the adjacent mountain, 
which the government is pleased to call a reservation. 

A limpid, casual stream flows slyly down as if fearful 
of discovery. The shrill, demoniac bark of the coyote 
gives the chickens and the goats warning that the 
scavenger of the desert is near, seeking to destroy. 
Then all is hushed again and a luminous silence known 
only to the few imparts to us the fact that a day has 
died. But another and another will yet be born — 
and thus they'll come and go until eternity. 

Life is a bridge of sighs over which memory glides 
into a torrent of tears. 

There is nothing so serious as fun. 

I have never known a true comedian who was not a 
master of sentiment. 

AH the tragedians whom I have ever known were 
never more tragic than when they tried to be comic. 




Chapter LXXXVI 

I BECOME A BARNSTORMER! 

HILE I was at work on my ranch, dis- 
gusted with the methods of New York 
managers, I received a proposition from 
Oliver Morosco to appear in New York 
under his management in a new play 
which I was first to try out with one of 
his stock companies in Los Angeles. If that play 
proved a failure Morosco agreed to submit others to me 
until we finally succeeded in finding a success. Evi- 
dently my short season with the opposition stock com- 
pany had given Morosco pause! 

It looked like an advantageous offer and I accepted, 
consenting to appear in "Oliver Twist' ' in one of his 
stock houses — among other plays. We had just begun 
rehearsals of "Oliver Twist" when an accident laid 
me low. 

Morosco, who was in New York at the time, sent two 
of his employes to my house within an hour after I had 
been carried in and from them and from him, by tele- 
grams, I received repeated assurances that I need not 
worry, that the contract would continue in force indefi- 
nitely. As soon as I should be able to appear on the 
stage Morosco promised to carry out his part of the 
agreement to the letter. 

I was sufficiently recovered in February, 191 3, to 
appear as Fagin. The play ran three weeks at the stock 
house in Los Angeles and then I found myself wondering 
what was to become of me! The great Morosco was 

352 



I BECOME A BARNSTORMER! 353 

"back East" somewhere. No one seemed to be able to 
locate him or to get word to him. So I waited about 
four or five weeks on the pleasure of this magnate! 
Finally came word that we were to organize a company 
on the spot and make a tour of the Coast in "Oliver 
Twist," extending it to Canada and continuing in it for 
the remainder of the season. 

I had heard of but had never known what "barn- 
storming" meant before. 

I know now! 

The production which Morosco sent out with me was 
the thrown-together junk which had been used in the 
stock production. It was never intended to last more 
than a few weeks or to be moved! It was quite the 
worst collection of moth-eaten scenery and "properties" 
I ever saw. The company, with a very few exceptions, 
was recruited from the members of the Morosco stock 
companies who chanced to be idle at the moment. 
Some of the men, driven desperate by the nature of 
the backwoods country through which our route lay, 
were thoroughly intoxicated (and not infrequently blind 
drunk!) most of the time — and I for one had no heart 
to reprove them! 

Some of the towns we played are not on any map — 
the map could never survive it! From pillar to post 
we were yanked along over single-track railroads — 
with bits of our scenery falling out through open bag- 
gage doors all along the line! How that scenery ever 
managed to hang together as long as it did has always 
puzzled me. Finally we had to eliminate the London 
bridge scene. The platforms were so insecure it was 
positively dangerous for the actors to stand on them. 
This was one of the greatest and most effective scenes 
in the New York production and gave my leading 
woman, Miss Moreland, as Nancy, one of her biggest 
moments. 



354 NAT GOODWIN'S BOOK 

The night before we took it off, in one of the smaller 
Coast towns, some of the gallery boys, noticing the 
stone (!) steps and huge pillars of granite (God save 
the mark!) wabbling to and fro, began to whistle 
"London Bridge is falling down" — and in a moment 
the whole house had taken it up! 

That was enough for me. After five weeks of miser- 
able business we closed in Victoria and I returned to my 
beach home outside Los Angeles to the far more con- 
genial task of completing this book. I sincerely hope 
you, dear reader, will find as much pleasure in^reading 
what I've written as I have found in its composition. 
I have striven to be kind to everyone in these pages and 
if any of my criticisms appear harsh or my views on 
various subjects be considered arrogant, pray accept 
my apologies. I have written as I think and whatever 
the verdict I stand by my guns. 

What will the verdict be? 

I wonder. 

I say I returned to my home to complete this book. 
I did — and I thank the gods that Fate stepped in and 
for once was kindly enough disposed to permit me to 
write the most appropriate and happy finis any book of 
mine could have! 

Fact and unconsecrated fields oppose faith and 
architecture. 




Chapter LXXXVII 

NUMBER FIVE 

HE day (a beautiful day in May, 191 3, 
such a day as only Southern California 
at its happiest moment knows), I made 
Margaret Moreland my wife I once 
again set the buzzards and the gossips 
to wagging their ears and tongues and 

lashing their tails (I have always been sure both have 

tails!). 

My first (wife) was an angel; 
My second a silly woman; 
My third a Roman Senator; 
My fourth a pretty little thing; 
My fifth — all woman! 

My whole (desire) was by repetition to prove that 
hope can conquer experience! 



355 




Chapter LXXXVIII 

L'ENVOI 

AM sorry for the poor American who 
deserts this sun-kissed California country 
for worn-out Europe. I am enjoying 
the breezes and ozone wafted from the 
great Pacific while poor deluded Eastern 
folk are festering in heat and humidity, 
varied only by an occasional murky thunderstorm. 

I face the sea and at my back are roses! On either 
side the blue-brown mountains hold converse with the 
sun and stars and dip their august heads in silent 
acquiescence to the others' whispers. At night massive 
Mars, always on duty, ever luminous, sternly bids them 
silence and the world to "go to" while he blinks a 
patronizing approval upon those "beneath" him. He 
has much of cynicism in his blinking as he contemplates 
this tiny carbon, Earth, for all his constant attendance. 
Mars is my companion, ever peering through my case- 
ment. Only our sex and distance prevent a silent 
flirtation! I am sometimes tempted to address him 
anyhow, but his majesty always awes me. Still, I find 
consolation communing with the waves that lull me to 
sleep as they embrace the sandy shore. The consolation 
is all too brief, the sleep intermittent, and I awake to 
fly back to the companionship of Mars. 

He is such a splendid officer! Always on guard — 
at sea and over the desert. He seldom shows himself 
resplendent in crowded cities. He dislikes company 
and turmoil. He is always alone, now and then racing 

356 



L'ENVOI 357 

with the moon and always leaving that gentleman to 
the left as he smilingly beckons the wary miner of the 
desert and the patient mariner of the sea to the right. 
Mars knows the road — a magnificent, reticent soldier 
— and I pray ere long my friend Tesla will make him 
better known. 

The drab morning is approaching o'er the mountain 
tops. A sea gull of corresponding color is on the sand, 
seeking what it may devour. The color of the bird 
and atmosphere are not to my fancy. 

I am going to beg a favor of sleep and awake when 
the colors are more radiant, when the sunbeams glisten 
and dance from sky to wave, when the white clouds 
meet and kiss the shadow that lets fall diamond drops 
of crystal that quench the thirst of the flowers and give 
them life. 

My home is by the sea. My lot is one hundred feet 
wide. Its height is interminable. It is a thousand 
fathoms deep! My front yard extends to the Antipodes. 

Am I not to be envied? 

I wonder? 



INDEX 



Abies, Eddy, 128 

Academy of Music, 30 

Adams, Edwin, 56, 119, 344 

Adams House, 153 

Adams, Maude, m, 112, 121, 125, 169 

"Alabama," 171 

"Alabaster Staircase, The," 253 

Albaugh, John, 85 

Aldrich, Louis, 280 

Allen, John, 149 

Allen, Viola, 182, 290 

"Altar of Friendship, The," 249 

Amber, Mabel, 172 

"Ambition," 174-176 

"American Citizen, An," 232, 235, 241, 

243-245, 307, 309 
Anderson, Mary, 35 
"Andre, Major," 250 
"Antony, Mark," 30 
Appleton, George, 236 
Archer, Belle, 95 
Archer, Fred, 95 
Arch Street Theatre, 26 
Armstrong, Paul, no 
Arthur, Chester, 148 
Arthur, Paul, 121, 122 
"As a Man Thinks," 330 
"As in a Looking-GIass," 42 
Attell, Abe, 192 
Auditorium Theatre, 327 

Babcock, Theodore, 168 

"Baby Mine," in 

Baldwin's Theatre, 211, 214, 241 

BaU, William, 89 

"Banker's Daughter, The," 72 

Barrett, Lawrence, 30, 35, 48, §6, 99, 

112, 282 
Barrett, Louis, 168, 172 
Barron, Elwyn, 273 
Barry, Billy, 36, 97 
Barrymore, Ethel, 42, 267 
Barrymore, Georgie Drew, 44 



Barrymore, John, 42 

Barrymore, Lionel, 42 

Barrymore, Maurice, 41-44, 171, 329 

Bates, Blanche, 217, 220, 243, 336 

"Beauty and the Barge," 90, 105, 252 

Beck, Senator, 148 

Becket, Harry, 98 

Beefsteak Club, 39 

Beere, Mrs. Bernard, 42 

Belasco, David, 173, 290, 336 

Belasco Theatre, 336 

Bell, Digby, 159, 161 

Bellew, Kyrle, 237 

Bellewood, Bessie, 160, 161 

"Bells, The," 92, 141 

Bennett, James O'Donnell, 273 

Bergman, Henry, 174 

Bernand, 152 

Bernhardt, Sarah, in, 112, 274 

"Bertha, the Sewing Machine Girl/* 

115 
Bigelow, Charles, 50 
Bijou Theatre, 52, 91, 94, 140 
Bingham, Amelia, 1 1 1 
Bishop, Charles, 92, 140 
Blackburne, Senator, 148 
"Black Cloak, The," 68 
"Black Flag, The," 67 
Blake, William, 47 
Blethen, Alden J., 18 
Blaine, James G., 148, 150, 163 
Bloodgood, Clara, in 
Bloodgood, Henry, 29 
Bohemian Club, 216 
"Bookmaker, The," 127, 128 
Booth, Edwin, 47, 48, 56, 71, 99, 112, 

1 19, 226, 274, 282, 343 
Booth's Theatre, 58 
Boston "Advertiser," 89 
Boston Museum, 22, 94, 143, 154, 280 
Boston "Post," 51 
Boston Theatre, 22 
Boston Theatre Stock Company, §6 



360 



INDEX 



"Bottle, The," 23 

"Bottom, Nick," 90 

" Bottom's Dream, Col. Tom," 96 

Boucicault, Dion, 57, 59 

"Bought and Paid For," no, III, 286 

Bouser, Charles, 86 

Boylan, Tommy, 61 

Bradford, Joseph, 26-29, 75» 2 73 

Brady, William, 283 

Brewer, 293-298 

Brice, Senator, 148 

Broadhurst, George, 286, 309, 312, 320 

Broadway Theatre, 29, 40 

Brooke, Gustavus, 119 

Brooks, Joseph, 47, 107, 113, 182, 220 

Brougham, John, 82 

Browning, Miss, 211 

Bryton, Fred, 96 

Buckley, Ned, 96, 147 

Burbeck, Frank, 87 

Burk, Charles, 47 

Burke, Billie, 1 1 1 

Burton, William E., 47 

Bush Street Theatre, 190 

"Butterflies, The," 169 

Byron, Arthur, 250 

"Camille," 132 

Campbell, Bartley, 280 

"Candidate, The," 94 

Cannon, Anthony, 82 

"Captain, The," 287, 326 

Carlisle, Alexandra, 307, 308 

Carlisle, Frank, 172, 329 

Carlisle, John G., 148 

Carlton, Henry Guy, 1 68-1 70, 1 74- 1 76 

Carter, Mrs. Leslie, 172, 336 

Casino, 141 

"Caste," 274 

Cazuran, A. R., 67, 68, 73 

"Celebrated Case, A," 57 

Chamberlain, John, 148, 151 

Chambers, Haddon, 254 

"Chantecler," 123 

Cincinnati Festival, 112 

"Cinderella at School," 94, 143 

Clancy, Veney, 80 

Clapp, Henry A., 89, 273 

Clarke, Marguerite, 1 1 1 

Clayton, Estelle, 144, 145 

Claxton, Kate, 99 



Cleveland, Grover, 149 

Cliff House, 223 

"Climbers, The," in 

Cline, Maggie, 125 

Coe, Isabel, 121, 122 

Coghlan, Charles, 57, 58, 96 

Cohan, George, 51, 112, 177, 178 

Collier, Jim, 96 

Collier, Willie, 71, 288-289 

Collins, Charlie, 100 

Collins, Constance, 332 

"Confusion," 92 

Conklin, Roscoe, 148, 150 

Conners, Billy, 70, 97 

Considine, George, 195 

Cooke, George Frederick, 119 

Coote, Charlie, 142 

Coote, Robert, 92 

Coquelin, 123 

Corbett, James J., 164-165, 283 

Couldock, William, 182 

Coulter, Fraser, 211 

Covent Garden, 60 

"Cowboy and the Lady, The," 248 

Craig, Robert, 26 

Crane, William H., 30, 45, 80, 106, 182 

Crinkle, Nym, 143 

Crisp, Speaker, 149 

Criterion Theatre, 54 

"Cromwell, Oliver," 140 

"Crosstree, Captain," 79 

"Cruets," 84, 86 

Crystal Palace, 152 

Cummings, Amos, 149 

Cushman, Charlotte, 56 

Dailey, Peter, 49, 50 
Dale, Alan, 250 
Daly, Arnold, 282 
Daly, Augustin, 70 
Daly, John, 97 
Daly, William H. f 35 
Dasher, Bert, 52 
Davenport, E. L., 1 19, 276, 344 
Davenport, Fanny, 106 
Davey, Tom, 97 
Denver "Post," 218 
Detroit " Free Press," 89 
"Dietrich, Captain," 80 
Dixey, Henry E., 92, 93, 140, 153-15* 
329 



INDEX 



361 



Donnelly, Henry, 131 
Doro, Marie, 332 
Dramatic Schools, 198 
Drew, John, 97, in, 169, 181, 217 
Drew, Mrs. John, 45, 46, 48 
Drury Lane Theatre, 60, 164 
Dupree, Minnie, in, 168, 172 
Duse, Eleanora, ill, 274 
Dyas, Ada, 97 

"Easiest Way, The," 119 

Edeson, Robert, in 

Edwin, Eddy, 75 

Elliott, Gertrude, 217, 220-222, 231- 

232, 234, 238-239 
Elliott, Maxine, 183, 217-222, 230-232, 

234, 238-239, 243-248, 250, 254-261, 

290, 308 
Elliott Theatre, Maxine, 222 
Ely Central, 299 
Emerson, Billy, 215 
Emmet, J. K., 99, 106 
Empire Stock Company, 290 
Empire Theatre, 332 
Erlanger, Abe, 105, 107, 108, 247, 250 
"Erminie," 140, 141 
Esmond, Henry V., 248 
"Evangeline," 80, 82, 154 
"Evening Sun," 91 
Eytinge, Rose, 97 

"Fagin," 274, 332, 333, 352 

"False Shame," 57 

Farnum, Bill, 287 

Farnum, Dustin, 287 

Farrell, Leila, 92, 140 

Faversham, William, 290 

Fawcett, George, 174, 329 

Fechter, Charles, 58, 276 

Fellows, John R., 36 

Field, Cyrus, 155 

Field, Kate, 227 

Fifth Avenue Theatre, 173 

Fisher's, Mrs., Boarding House, 22 

Fiske, James, Jr., 156 

Fiske, Minnie Maddern, 97 

Fitch, Clyde, 111, 222, 245-247, 253 

Flemming, Mr., 253 

Fletchers, The, 131 

Florence, W. J., 48, 84 

"Fool's Revenge, A," 72 



Forbes-Robertson, 221, 343 

Ford, Charlie, 106 

Ford, Robert, 284, 285 

Ford's Theatre, 178 

Forrest, Edwin, 56, 1 19, 274, 344 

Forsyth, Kate, 35, 97 

Fourteenth Street Theatre, 79 

Foy, Eddie, 279 

Frawley, Tim, 217, 231 

Friars Club House, 178 

Frohman, Charles, 102-105, 1 12, 124,. 

169, 252-253, 304, 332 
Frohman, Daniel, 102 
Frohman, Gustave, 102 
Fuller, Loie, 92, 140 
Fuller, MoIIie, 97 

Gaiety Theatre, 128 

Gait House, 205 

Gans-Nelson Fight, 293 

"Garden of Allah, The," 324 

Garden Theatre, 43, 175 

Garrick Club, 38, 69 

Garrick, David, 91, 119 

"Garrick, David," 54, 174-176, 234 

"Gay Deceiver, A," 96 

"Genius, The," 91, 306, 308 

George, Grace, 287 

Gerard, Florence, 92 

Germaine, 75 

Gilbert, John, 97 

Gilbert, W. S., 152 

"Gilded Fool, A," 168, 174, 235, 306, 

307 
Gillette, William, 281, 282 
"Girl of the Golden West, The," 173 
Golden, Dick, 154, 183, 244 
Goldfield, 294 

"Gold Mine, The," 121, 127, 128 
"Goldsmith, Oliver," 153 
Goodale, George P., 89, 273 
Goodi, 236, 237 
Goodrich, Edna, 309 
Goodwin Company, Nat C, 298 
Goodwin, Edward, 95 
Goodwin, J. Cheever, 80 
Goodwin, Nat C, as 

Camille, 132 

Captain Crosstree, 79 

Captain Dietrich, 80 

Fagin, 274, 332, 333, 352 



362 



INDEX 



Goodwin, Nat C, as — Continued 

Grave Digger, The, 35 

Jim Radburn, 172, 211, 214 

Mark Antony, 30 

Mathias, 141 

Modus, 35 

Ned, the Newsboy, 28 

Nick Bottom, 90 

Shylock, 90, 249 

Sim Lazarus, 87 

Sir George Hounslow, 23 

Sir Lucius OTrigger, 48, 64 
Goodwin, Nat C, III, 137 
Gorman, Arthur Pugh, 270 
Gould, Jay, 156 
Grand Opera House, 58, 93 
Grand Pacific Hotel, 63 
" Grave Digger, The," 35 
Greene, Clay M., 77, 329 
Greenroom Club, 54, 65, 164 
"Gringoire," 93 
Grubb, Lillian, 97 
Guitry, 124, 281 
Guy's Hotel, 61 

Hackett, James K., 267 

"Hale, Nathan," 52, 90, 104, 232, 246- 

248 
Hale, Philip, 273 
Hall, Blakely, 149, 273 
Hall, Josie, 97 
Hall, Pauline, 97 
Hamilton, Mr., 54, 55, 164, 165 
"Hamlet," 35, 276 
Hammerstein's, 43 
Hampton, Alf, 29 
Handy sides, Clarence, 211 
Hanley Sisters, 97 
Harding, Lyn, 332 
Hare, John, 253, 274 
Harrigan, Edward, 83 
Harrigan and Hart, 82 
Harris, Henry, 1 1 1 
Harrison, Alice, 98 
Harrison, Louis, 98 
Hart, Tony, 30, 82, 83, 183 
Hatton, Frank, 273 
Haverly, Jack, 101 
Haworth, Joseph, 95 
Hay man, AI, 102, 105 
Uaymarket Theatre, 81 



Hearne, Chrystal, 278 

Hearne, James A., 277, 278 

Hearne, Julie, 278 

"Heir at Law, The," 48, 62 

"Heir to the Hoorah, The," no 

"Held by the Enemy," 281 

Henderson, William, 23 

"Her Own Way," 247 

Hicks, Seymour, 143 

Hilliard, Robert, 142 

"His First Rehearsal," 75 

"Hobbies," 86, 87 

Hoffman House, 96 

Holland Brothers, 45, 329 

HoIIenden Hotel, 244 

HoIIis Street Theatre, 251 

Holt, Clarence, 168 

Holy, John, 155 

Hooley, Richard, 180 

Hooley's Theatre, 127, 172 

Hoops, Arthur, 168, 172, 211, 225, 240 

Hopper, De Wolfe, 159, 161, 162, 182 

"Hounslow, Sir George," 23 

"House of Cards, A," 175 

Howard Athenaeum, 23, 27, 75, 79 

Howard, Bronson, 103 

Howard, Joe, Jr., 149 

Hoyt, Charles, 51-53, 121 

"Hunchback, The," 35 

Hutchins, Stillson, 66, 89, 273 

IngersoII, Robert, 33, 116, 150, 163, 211 
"In Mizzoura," in, 172,211,214 
Irving, Henry, 38-40, 47, 48, 72, 92, 93. 
112, 117, 119, 290, 330 

Jackwood, 103, 255, 264 

Jacob, L. H., 249 

Jacobs, W. W., 252, 253 

James, Jesse, 284, 285 

Janis, Elsie, 125 

Jansen, Marie, 97 

Jefferson, Charley, 182 

Jefferson, Joseph, 44-48, 62-64, 182 

Jefferson, Thomas, 30 

Jeffries- Johnson Fight, 192, 312 

Jerome, Lawrence, 149 

Jerome, Leonard, 155 

Jerome, William Travers, 149 

Jones, Senator, 148 

Jones, Walter, 244 






INDEX 



363 



Jonson, Ben, 116 
Josephs, Harry, 80 
"Julius Caesar," 30, 35 

Kean, 119 

Keane, Charles, 336 

Keene, Laura, 47 

Kelcey, Herbert, 217 

KildufF, Jim, 313 

"Kirby, Cameo," 287 

Klaw, Marc, 105 

Klaw and Erlanger, 108, 249 

Knickerbocker Theatre, 70, 91, 104, 123 

Knight, George, 97 

Knight, Joseph, 69 

Lackaye, Wilton, 42, 173, 185, 329 

Lamb, Charles, 272 

Lambs Club, 42, 44, 98, 184, 216, 238, 

288, 329, 330 
Langtry, Lilly, 127 
"Law in New York," 28 
"Lazarus, Sim," 87 
"Led Astray," 57, 59 
LeMoyne, William J., 95 
"Lend Me Five Shillings," 48, 93 
Leslie, Amy, 273 
Levick, Mulner, 344 
Lewis, Alfred Henry, 253 
Lewis, Catherine, 95 
Lewis, James, 97 
Liebler & Co., 287 

"Lion and the Mouse, The," no, 306 
"Lion's Mouth, The," 168 
"Little Jack Shepard," 140, 141 
"Little Rebel, The," 79 
Lotta, 99 

Lyceum Theatre, 102, 105, 252, 226 
Lyceum Theatre, London, 38, 117 

"Macaire, Robert," 141 
Macauley, Barney, 96 
"Macbeth," 276 
Mackaye, Steele, 135, 136 
Mackie, Johnny, 96 
Macklin, 89 
Macready, 119 
Madison Square Theatre, 281 
Mahone, William, 148, 150 
Mannering, Mary, 267 
Manning, William, 215 



Mansfield, Richard, 67-74, 106, 246, 

282 
Mantell, Robert, 119 
"Marionettes, The," 132 
Marks, Eli, 132, 133, 240, 241 
Marlowe, Julia, 45, 71 
Marshall, Captain, 253 
Marshall, TuIIy, 1 1 1 
Marshall, Wyzeman, 2$ 
Martinot, Sadie, 95 
"Mascot, The," 94, 143 
Mason, John, 92, 95, 128, 134, 249, 323, 

330, 33i 
"Master Hand, The," 253 
"Mathias," 141 
Maude, Cyril, 252 
Mayo, Frank, 43 
McCIellan, George B., 217, 221, 222, 

235, 237, 238 
McCuIIough, John, 35-37, 70, 72, 96, 

119,344 
McDonald, Sadie, 233 
Mcintosh, Burr, 172-174 
McKee, Mrs. Frank, 121 
McPhelim, Mr., of Chicago, 273 
Meade, James, 278 
Melba, Nellie, 254, 255 
Mellish, Fuller, 332 
Melville, Emily, 211 
"Member for Slocum, The," 87 
"Memnon," 168 
"Merchant of Venice, The," 70, 89, 92, 

249, 309 
Metropole Hotel, 302 
"Midnight Bell, A," 121 
"Midsummer Night's Dream," 40, 90, 

250, 251 

"Mighty Dollar, The," 84 

Miles, Bob, 180 

Miles, R. E. J., 35 

Miles and Barton, 140-142 

Miller, Henry, 182, 290 

Miner, Harry, 220 

Miner's Fifth Avenue Theatre, 174 

Mitchell, Maggie, 99 

Modjeska, 106 

"Modus," 35 

Moffit, James, 80 

Montague, Harry J., 96 

Montaine, Clarence, 174 

"Monte Cristo," 58 



364 



INDEX 



Montgomery, James, 286 

Moore, Mary, 54 

Moreland, Margaret, 210, 326, 327, 

334, 353, 355 
Morgan, Matt, 79 
Morne, Woolson, 143 
Morosco, Oliver, 154, 327, 352, 353 
Morris, Clara, 35 
Mortimer, Estelle, 121, 168, 174 
Morton House, 99 
"Much Ado About Nothing," 35 
Murdock, James E., 35 
Murray, George, 84 
Musgrove, George, 205, 233, 234, 236 
"Music Master, The," 190 
"My Partner," 280 

"Nadjesda," 42 

Nash, George, 128, 330 

National Press Club, 266 

"Native Son, A," 286 

"Ned, the Newsboy," 28 

Newall, Major, 131 

New Amsterdam Theatre, 90, 250, 252 

Newcombe, 117 

New York "American," 91 

Niblo's Garden, 59, 75 

Nixon and Zimmerman, 106, 107 

"Nominee, The," 94, 121, 127, 128 

Norton, John, 180 

"Nunky," 280, 281 

O'Brien, Mayor, 20 

O'Brien, Neil, 155, 172, 211, 223 

"Oliver Twist," 274, 332~334, 352-353 

Olympic Theatre, 79 

"Othello," 35 

"O'Trigger, Sir Lucius," 48, 64 

"Ourselves," 87 

Owens, John E., 30, 47 

"Paid in Full," no 

Palmer, A. M., 57, 58, 99, 106, 280, 

281 
Palmer, Minnie, 79 
Papin, 117 

"Parisian Romance, A," 67, 68, 70, 74 
Parker House, 94, 280 
Park Theatre, Brooklyn, 36, 280 
Pastor, Tony, 79 
Payne, Louis, 172, 174, 211, 223, 240 



Payton, Corse, 343 

Pease, Nella Baker, 131, 134, 139, 230, 

238 
Perry, Henry, 97 
"Peter Pan," 121 
Pettit, Henry, 87 
Phelps, 119 
Piercy, Sam, 96 
Piggott, James, 127, 128 
"Pinafore," 94 
Players Club, 288, 289 
"Plummer, Caleb," 48 
Pomeroy, "Brick," 273 
Pond, Anson, 145, 147 
"Pony, Big," 143 
Possart, 47, 119 
Potter, Mrs. Brown, 237 
Poussard, 336 
Power, Tyrone, 126 
"Prisoner of Zenda, The," 224 
"Private Secretary, The," 280, 281 
"Professor, The," 280 
"Providence Opera House, 23, 168 
" Punch, 152 

"Quick's Patient, Dr.," 253 

"Radburn, Jim," 172, 211, 214 
"Rainbow, The," 290 
"Ramblers, The," 87 
Rapley, 106 
Ratcliffe, James, 131 
Raymond, John T., 97, 122 
Rawhide Coalition, 299 
Read, Charlie, 96 289 
" Ready Money," 286 
Reed, Tom, 149, 150 
Reedy, Marion, 273 
Rehan, Ada, 97 
Rhea, M'lle, 35 
Rice, Edward E., 80, 82, 94 
Rice, Fannie, 45, 131, 132 
Rich and Harris, 106 
"Richard the Third," 321 
"Richelieu," in 
Richelieu Hotel, Chicago, 62 
Riddel, George, 89 
Riley, James Whitcomb, 157 
"Rip Van Winkle," 47, 48 
"Rivals, The," 45, 46, 48, 63, 113, 182, 
184, 203, 241, 242, 244 



INDEX 



365 



Rix, Alice, 218 

Robertson, Ian, 280 

Robinson, Peter, 216 

Robson, Frederick, 93 

Robson, Stuart, 25, 26-34, 59> 75* I 06 

"Roderick Dhu," 59 

"Romany Rye," 153 

"Romeo and Juliet," 35 

Romona's Restaurant, 161 

Rooney, Pat, 75 

Rosenfeld, Sydney, 141, 173, 175. 3^9 

Rossi, 119 

Rostand, 124 

"Royal Revenge, A.," 96 

Russell, Annie, 174 

Russell, Lillian, 97, 197 

Russell, Sol Smith, 61-66, 75, 97, 106, 

183 
Ryley, Tom, 306 

"St. Catherine," 318 

St. James Hotel, 97 

Salsbury's Troubadors, 84 

Salvini, 72, 119 

Sanford, Wright, 155 

San Francisco "Chronicle," 216 

Sanger, Frank, 131, 132, 141 

Savage Club, 238 

Saville, John, 174 

Scanlon, Billy, 36 

Scott, Clement, 273 

"Second in Command, The," 253 

" Second Mrs. Tanqueray, The," 1 1 1 

"Seven Days," no 

Shakespeare, 116 

Shakespeare's Plays, 119 

Shannon, Effie, 217 

"Shenandoah," 103 

Shook, Sheridan, 99 

Shook and Palmer, 67 

"Shore Acres," 279 

"Shylock," 90, 249 

Sinn, Col., 79 

Sinn, William, 36 

"Skating Rink, The," 96, 131, 143 

"Sketches in India," 79 

Snyder, Matt, 98 

Solari's, 68 

Sothern, E. H., 47, 71, 162, 246, 275 

"Sparks," 87, 96 

SpreckJes, Adolph, 237 



Standard Theatre Company, 68 
Stanley, Fred, 183 
Stetson, John, 58, 75, 92 
Stevens, Ashton, 173, 218 
Stevenson, Robert Louis, 226-228 
Stevenson, Mrs. Robert Louis, 227-229 
Stoddard, J. H., 67 
Swinnerton, Jimmie, 218 

Tarkington, Booth, 287 
Tempest, Marie, 97 
"Terrible Time, A," 96 
Terry, Edward, 128 
Terry, Ellen, 92 
Terry, Fred, 65 
Theatre Comique, 82 
Thomas, Augustus, 171-174, 329, 330 
Thomas, Charlie, 18, 51 
Thompson, Denman, 75 y 

Thompson, Lydia, 80, 81 
Thompson, William H., 128, 265, 290 
Thorne, Charles R., Jr., 56-60, 72, 96 
Thome, Charles R., Sr., 75, 98 
Thorne, Edwin, 23, 87, 96 
Thornes, The, 23, 59 
"Thousand Years Ago, A," 154 
Toole, Johnny, 39 
"Too Much Johnson," 281 
Tree, Sir Beerbohm, 66, 152, 315, 316 
Tree, Sir Herbert, 152 
Tremont House, 70 
Triangle, 296 

"Trip to Chinatown, A," 237 
"Turned Up," 92, 140-142 
"Two Orphans, The," 99 
Tyler, George C, 287, 324, 325, 327, 
332, 333 

Union Square, 97 

Union Square Hotel, 98 

Union Square Theatre, 57, 87, 99 

Usner, Miss, 211 

"Usurper, The," 249 

Van Otterendorf, Capt., 229 
Vokes Family, 84 

Wallack's Theatre, 97, 98 
Wallis, Gladys, 217 
Walnut Street Theatre, 82 
Walsh, Blanche, 211, 219 



366 



INDEX 



Walton, "Plunger," 97 

Warfield, David, 1 1 1, 1 12, 128, 168, 172, 

174, 190, 252 
Warren, Arthur, 273 
Warren, William, 19-21, 48, 275 
Watterson, Henry, 36, 89, 266, 268, 

273 
Weathersby, Emmy, 81 
Weathersby, Eliza, 80-87 
Weber and Field's, 153 
Weber and Field's Music Hall, 50, 190 
Webster, Lizzie, 80 
Western, Helen, 278 
Western, Lucille, 277, 278 
Whalley, William, 278 
"What Every Woman Knows," 122 
"What Would a Gentleman Do?", 

253 
Wheeler, A. C, 143, 144 



"When We Were Twenty-One," 248, 

249> 309> 327 
"Why Women Sin," 115 
Wiliard, 273 
Williams, Arthur, 128 
Williams, Gus, 75 

Williamson, James C., 233, 234, 236 
Wilson, AI, 49 

Wilson, Francis, 45, 106, 107, 141, 
Wilson, Robert, 172 
Winter, William, 91 
"Witching Hour, The," 330 
Wolfe, Benjamin, 84, 85 
"WolfvjJIe," 90, 253 
Woodthorp, H. C, 211 
Worthing, Frank, 222 
Wyndham, Sir Charles, 54, $$, 93 

Yardley, William, 93, 140 



6 



